


Call Yourself a Hurricane

by alpha_exodus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angst, Belts, Biting, Falling In Love, M/M, Multi, Passive-aggression, Sexting, Spanking, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I—Lord,” Bitty moans, covering his face with his hands because his embarrassment is catching up to him. “Five minutes ago I didn’t like you,” he mumbles in distress.</p><p>Parse chuckles, sounding as shaken as Bitty feels. “You could still hit me if you wanted—it might make you feel better.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Yourself a Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooo boy. this is the fic extension for [this post](http://omgpbandj.tumblr.com/post/148368169227/hahaha-i-dont-quite-know-what-this-is-but-i), affectionately dubbed "punch bittyparse" in its fledgling stages. warnings-wise, besides all the bdsm-type ones mentioned in the header, there's a sex-related blood mention and a discussion of past not-quite-healthy sexual relations.
> 
> ty to my loves yoursummerfrost & calypso-mary for help w/editing!! title from Halsey's "Gasoline" ("do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?"). <3

"Lord, I wanna punch you right now,” Bitty groans, mostly under his breath, but Parse still hears him.

"Go ahead. Hit me," Parse spits out, lips tight.

"It's not polite," Bitty shakes his head, grits his teeth, because Parse has just fucked Jack over and Bitty has never been so _angry,_ and he _wants_ to hit him, but—Bitty’s never been a mean person. He doesn’t want to be the kind of person to hurt people like that, not like the football boys who shoved him in the closet in middle school, not ever.

"I'm giving you permission," Parse tells him, a little bitter, a little resigned, and his voice is persuasive in that he sounds shaky. "Please. Hit me. I deserve it."

Bitty takes a shaky step forward, raises up a hand, and hesitates. “I—I can’t do it,” he huffs out a big breath of air, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

Parse steps closer and takes Bitty’s hand, guides it to Parse’s own cheek, and his skin is flushed with heat even in the cold December air of the Haus’s backyard. “Look,” Parse murmurs. “You could punch me or slap me, right here. And I’d be bruised up but that’d be okay, I’d tell people that I fell on the ice during practice, or that I got a stick to the face, something like that. They’d believe me, and you’d maybe get some of your frustration out, and I—I’d get a little bit of what I deserve for saying those things to Zimms,” his voice cracks.

Bitty stares at him, struck by the emotion swimming in Parse’s eyes. He’d thought they were green, but under the stars they look blue, like the ocean or maybe a puddle when the sun comes out just after it rains.

They probably look like lovers, standing here like this with Bitty’s hand on Parse’s cheek, Parse’s fingers still covering his own. And maybe that’s why Bitty does it, because he’s a little drunk and a little sad and Parse looks sad too—and so, slowly, he tugs his hand away, putting it on Parse’s shoulder instead.

And then Bitty leans up and kisses him.

It’s clumsy and both of their lips are a little chapped, but it takes Bitty’s breath away when Parse kisses back. Then all at once the kiss grows deeper, and it feels like it goes on for an eternity—a searing press of Parse’s lips and eventually tongue against his own, hot and slick and licking Bitty’s mouth open so thoroughly he feels like he could drown in the beating of his heart. One of Parse’s hands is tangled in Bitty’s, and he’s never been kissed like this before, never made out with a boy like this. Lord. It feels amazing, and Bitty’s pretty sure he’s whimpering a little too loudly but he doesn’t care—

But then Parse pulls away.

He looks just as disheveled as Bitty feels—his cap’s knocked askew. Had Bitty done that? Parse’s eyes are half-lidded, and he’s panting, breaths evident in the freezing weather. “Are—are we actually doing this?”

“I— _Lord_ ,” Bitty moans, covering his face with his hands because his embarrassment is catching up to him. “Five minutes ago I didn’t like you,” he mumbles in distress.

Parse chuckles, sounding as shaken as Bitty feels. “You could still hit me if you wanted—it might make you feel better.”

“No, thanks,” Bitty laughs drily, because he’d just had the best kiss of his life from someone who’s practically his enemy—his rival in love, maybe. “I—God.”

“Sooo,” Parse drags out the syllable, “Two options. I can go home and we can never speak about this again. Or we can keep making out. Whichever.”

“I—“ Bitty swallows, because the logical thing is to say no—even if there aren’t any windows near where they’re standing, someone could still come out and see.

The logical thing is to leave Parse be, to go back upstairs and comfort Jack.

But apparently Parse sees something in Bitty’s face that makes him sigh, because then Parse says, “For what it’s worth, I really wanna keep making out with you.”

Fuck. “I—fuck. I really wanna,” Bitty says, sure he’s blushing redder than the cherry pie he’d taken out of the oven that morning.

“But,” Parse prompts.

“But I—I’m still not sure I like you,” Bitty worries at his lip. “And—I’m kinda—Jack.”

“You’re in love with him.” It’s not a question, but when Bitty hides his face again and nods, Parse swears. “Shit. You too?”

“Didn’t you know that already?” Bitty asks, because he’d definitely assumed Parse knew. And it’s no surprise that Parse is in love with Jack too—well, maybe a little bit of a surprise, considering how Parse had treated Jack tonight, but—Bitty can practically see the love in his face, radiating off his skin.

“I guessed, but,” Parse shrugs coolly. “Sucks hearing it. Especially since I still really fucking wanna kiss you.”

Bitty moans and steps forward, because _fuck it_ , leaning into Parse and seeking out his lips again. Parse responds readily this time, wrapping Bitty in his arms and devouring him whole, and Bitty whimpers and nips at Parse’s lip, feeling the intensity of lust start to flow in his veins.

Except then he bites down a little harder than he’d intended to, and Parse groans, pulling back to stare at him.

“What—oh, sorry,” Bitty says, panting slightly.

“I—fuck,” Parse looks away. “Okay, uh. I like that? Like—the biting.”

Bitty’s eyes widen—wait. “You mean—is it a pain thing?”

“Yeah,” Parse’s lips twist, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Swallowing, Bitty takes a breath. “So—earlier, you wanted me to hit you…?”

Parse’s eyebrows fly up. “That was—separate. I mean, like, I wanted it, but in a different way? Kinda? Fuck,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“But—would you have liked it that way?” Bitty probes, his voice quiet. He doesn’t know exactly why he’s digging, only that he’s still feeling a little spiteful and also that he _does_ want to know.

“I—shit. Yes, okay? I might’ve,” Parse finally admits. “But I wasn’t trying to make it sexual or anything when I asked you to do that, all right?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol on his tongue, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s just properly made out with a boy for the first time, but either way Bitty feels bold enough to ask, “So—would you have jerked off thinking about it later?”

Parse goes silent.

“ _OhmyGod_ —okay, never mind,” Bitty shakes his head quickly. “Forget I said that—that was incredibly rude of me, Lord, sorry,” he presses his knuckle to his mouth and shuts himself up.

When Parse finally speaks, his voice is strained. “Yes.”

Bitty blinks. “Huh?”

“Yes, I would’ve. Probably. Not like, immediately, but maybe in a week or two,” Parse looks miserable at the admission.

 _Lord_. Oh, fuck. That’s—kind of messed up, because Bitty would’ve had no idea that Parse was thinking those kinds of things—but it’s also kind of hot. Shit. Bitty hadn’t even _known_ he would think that was hot—he has no idea what to think at all, honestly. “Oh,” is all he can really say without babbling out all the things that are flying through his brain.

“Please don’t—don’t tell anyone? Like, I don’t want this getting back to the press,” Parse sighs. “I don’t even know why I told you, fuck. I haven’t told anyone since Jack.”

Bitty’s ears perk at that. “Jack?”

“Yeah, we used to—do shit,” Parse shrugs. “He would—uh. Hit me. Like, sexually. God, why am I telling you this?” he groans suddenly, and Bitty reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. That simple motion seems to tug all the tension out of Parse’s body, and he wilts, his shoulders hunching over.

“I don’t think it’s weird, you know,” Bitty murmurs carefully.

Parse looks surprised. “Shit—really?”

Bitty thinks about it. “No, I don’t,” he says after a moment. “But also I’m drunk and sad and kinda horny, so—I dunno if I’ll feel the same way in the morning.”

“Oh,” Parse says, and he looks like he wants to pull away so Bitty lets him. Bitty subsequently surprises himself by missing Parse’s touch—his hand feels cold now.

“I—I won’t tell anyone. And, um.” He clears his throat, feeling very out of his depth. “If you wanna talk to someone—you can text me?” His hands itch for his cellphone, but he’d left it in his room in an attempt to stifle his Twitter attachment for the night.

“Uh—okay,” Parse says, reaching for his phone. “Um—can I get your number, then?” He looks about as awkward as Bitty feels, and he’s sure that the awkwardness is going to multiply exponentially by the morning.

“Yeah,” Bitty says, then types his number into the proffered phone, filling in the name space with _Bitty_ while he’s at it.

“Bitty? From Bittle, right?” Parse takes the phone back, squinting at it before shoving it into his pocket.

“Yeah, everyone calls me that around here,” Bitty murmurs. “Should I keep calling you Parse?”

“Kent’s fine,” he says, and then they’re left with an empty silence, because Bitty kind of doesn’t want to go inside yet and Kent doesn’t look like he’s moving either.

“Well, um,” Bitty mumbles.

“C’mere,” Kent says then, and Bitty gets pulled in to kiss him again, then again, and Kent’s tongue is between his lips and God, he really, really wants to keep going.

He wishes he could, but common sense is telling him that tonight is not the night, if it ends up happening at all.

“I’m really fucking turned on,” Kent admits, pressing the words into Bitty’s temple.

“I—yeah,” Bitty’s face heats, and he nips at Kent’s jaw. “But not—not tonight, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, because he needs time to think this over.

“Yeah, okay, fair,” Kent says. He kisses Bitty, a little more tenderly this time—and that surprises Bitty because he never would’ve expected that kind of tenderness. Then Kent draws away, looking regretful. “I should leave.”

“Yeah,” Bitty touches his lip—it’s puffy from all the kissing, God, he can still feel Kent’s mouth on his if he thinks about it hard enough. “If—if you want, you can pretend I punched you,” he says slowly, the words feeling sexually charged in a way he’s sure both of them are aware of.

Kent’s head snaps up, and then slowly he nods. “I—um. I might? Fuck, that’s really weird, isn’t it,” he looks away.

“No, it’s all right,” Bitty tells him, then leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Right there is where I punched you, okay?”

“Okay,” Kent laughs a little, looking off-kilter. “God. Bitty? Um, thanks,” he licks his lips, then leans closer. “You’re _really_ cute. I would take you home if you’d let me, but—well,” he leans down. “If you do end up dating Jack—I think you’d be good for him, in the long run,” he murmurs into Bitty’s ear, and then he spins around and walks away before Bitty can respond.

It’s a whole minute standing out there in the cold before Bitty can make himself go inside—his mind is reeling from absolutely everything about that conversation. When he finally does manage to walk back into the Haus, partying no longer seems attractive, so he fetches himself a cup of water (and winces at the state of the kitchen) before trudging up the stairs. He pauses at his door—he should go talk to Jack. But the fact of the matter is that Bitty probably looks very well-kissed at the moment, and he really doesn’t think now is the time to elaborate on why, especially since that ‘why’ is also the reason Jack’s probably feeling like shit right now.

Ten minutes after he’s changed into his nightshirt, brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, he gets a text from an unknown number that simply says _hiya_.

_Bitty:  
hiya yourself. is this who I think it is? :)_

_[Unknown]:  
yeahhh, it’s kent. back at the hotel now _

The text has a sunglasses emoji at the end, and Bitty smiles to himself, adding Kent to his contacts and feeling a little like he’s glowing. For all that he’d disliked Kent barely an hour ago, the kissing had been _really_ good, and—and Bitty had gotten the impression that he’d seen a side of Kent that Kent doesn’t show many people. It had been the vulnerability that had done Bitty in, when all is said and done.

Even so, he’s still not sure he truly likes Kent. But there’s a part of him—the part that often wishes he was bold enough to seduce strangers at parties—that wants to keep going, even though he’s not quite sure where this will lead.

_Bitty:  
oh good! glad you got there safe_

_Kent:_  
_i’m gonna head to bed soon, but_  
_i’m thinking about what you said if that’s okay_

 _Bitty:_  
_ummm gosh_  
_yes that’s okay_

 _Kent:_  
_ok_  
_shit uh_  
_you’re really hot_

Oh God oh _God_. Kent Parson is thinking about him right now. Kent Parson is almost certainly jerking off while thinking about Bitty, thinking about Bitty _punching_ him most likely, and maybe even thinking about kissing him too—oh, goodness.

Energy buzzing at his fingertips, Bitty tugs down his boxers, feeling a little sexy and a little taboo, and—and in the morning, he can blame it on the alcohol if he really feels the need, but in the back of his mind he knows he’s really not that drunk. He takes himself in hand, sighing into it, stroking his cock leisurely—he can still stop if he wants.

 _Bitty:_  
_ahhh um thank you_  
 _you’re… I mean, you’re Kent Parson_

_Kent:  
haha what’s that supposed to mean_

_Bitty:_  
_umm I mean you’ve got a fanclub_  
_so like_  
_you’re pretty attractive??_

 _Kent:_  
_hahaha thanks_  
_you can say that i’m sexy ;)_

Bitty nearly groans, _God._ Because Kent _is_ sexy, Bitty’s lying here texting him with one hand and touching himself with the other, feeling the warm hiss of pleasure build in his spine because he’s thinking of _Kent_ , of kissing him like they were never going to let go.

And here he goes, stepping off the deep end, because if he responds like he wants to there’s not really any going back.

 _Bitty:_  
_um okay_  
_….you’re really really sexy_

 _Kent:_  
_fuckk_  
_i’m thinking about you_

Bitty swallows hard, his hips rolling up to meet his hand almost without thinking about it, fuck. This boy is going to kill him.

_Bitty:  
thinking about me how?_

_Kent:_  
_thinking about if you had hit me_  
_idk i can stop talking about that if you don’t like it_

Chewing on his lip, Bitty considers it, thinks about how it would have felt to actually hit him, to feel his fist collide with Kent’s jaw and send Kent’s head knocking backwards. He recoils at the thought—he still doesn’t like it, not at all, but—but there are other kinds of pain, he knows. He’s idly read about them on the internet, things like whipping and spanking and controlled choking, and while he doesn’t think he’d like to be on the receiving end of any of that—well. He’d always wondered.

 _Bitty:_  
_so umm_  
_punching kinda scares me but_  
_there are other?? things I might like better??_

 _Kent:_  
_ohhhh ok like_  
_biting?_

Bitty stares at that one word, alone on the screen, taunting him. Then he lets out an involuntary whimper. _Fuck_.

_Bitty:  
umm yes to biting_

_Kent:_  
_God_  
_okay i can live with that_

 _Bitty:_  
_would you want me to do that to you?_  
_I mean_  
_if we ever did anything_

 _Kent:_  
_uhh fuck yeah i would_  
_you kinda bit my lip today_  
_oh God are you sure this isn’t freaking you out_

Bitty’s face heats wildly as he thumbs in the next message, because he’s sure Kent’s _guessed_ but he couldn’t know for sure until now, until Bitty tells him—

 _Bitty:_  
_no, no it’s not, um_  
_I’m, um. touching myself_

He presses send quickly, then immediately almost regrets it; his heart pounds as the symbol pops up that means Kent’s typing a reply.

 _Kent:_  
_shit okay_  
_that’s really hot, i hope you know_

_Bitty:  
um I’m blushing, thank you_

_Kent:  
you’re stupid cute okay_

_Bitty:  
I?? thank you_

_Kent:  
you close?_

Bitty’s heart jumps into his throat; he feels overexerted from all of the compliments Kent had paid him and he’s breathing hard and fast.

_Bitty:  
oh goshh um not yet but I can be_

_Kent:_  
_mkay_  
_i really wanted to keep making out with you_

_Bitty:  
me too…_

_Kent:  
would’ve sucked you off_

_Oh God_ —Bitty’s orgasm takes him almost completely in surprise, rising up in him as he squeezes his eyes shut, thinking about Kent on his knees with his lips around Bitty’s cock, oh, _oh_. He has to shove a hand to his mouth to stifle his whimpering, and by the time it’s over he has three unread texts from Kent.

 _Kent:_  
_if you wanted i mean_  
_but i would’ve done it_  
_fuck. fuck i came_

Still shaky, Bitty replies, feeling less embarrassed than he’d expected to.

_Bitty:  
umm I did too_

_Kent:  
shit was this okay? i didn’t really ask first fuck, sorry_

_Bitty:_  
_no no it’s all right_  
_i would’ve said if it wasn’t_

 _Kent:_  
_okay. if you’re sure_  
_still, sorry_  
_i’ve thrown a lot of shit at you tonight_  
_you didn’t deserve any of it_

Kent’s—Kent’s apologizing, and if Bitty’s being honest with himself, that’s the last thing he’d expected Kent to do. He cleans himself off with a tissue, heart pounding, thinking carefully about what he wants to say and how he wants to phrase it.

 _Bitty:_  
_it’s really all right_  
_besides, I would hope I deserved the kissing haha_  
_but, um. so I don’t want to pry but if you’re gonna apologize then I think you should be saying sorry to Jack instead?_

 _Kent:_  
_…………okay yeah. you’ve got me there_  
_i’m gonna wait til morning tho, he’s probably asleep_

Bitty sends an _okay_ , wondering if Kent’s really going to follow through, but Kent’s next message makes him feel a little better.

 _Kent:_  
_please nag me until i apologize to him_  
_i really really don’t want to leave things fucked up like they are now_

_Bitty:  
okay :) if you don’t mind me doing that, I will_

_Kent:_  
_thanks_  
_really, thank you_  
_heading to bed now_

_Bitty:  
okay me too. good night :)_

_Kent:_  
_night_  
_oh, and you definitely deserved the kissing :)_

Bitty stares at the smiley face at the end of Kent’s sentence for much longer than he probably should, heart in his mouth, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

xXx

The morning after is brutal. Bitty isn’t that hungover but the frogs definitely are, and Jack escapes to the library before Bitty can even try to talk to him, so he spends the whole morning and part of the afternoon cleaning the kitchen and trying to avoid thinking about last night before he’s ready. At last, the kitchen is clean, and he goes up and sits in his room with a sizable dilemma—to talk to Jack first, or Kent?

His phone decides for him, buzzing with a message from Kent, and Bitty opens it with his heart thumping wildly.

_Kent:  
uhh hi. so um. last night_

_Bitty:  
yeah…_

_Kent:  
you all right?_

Swiveling idly in his desk chair, Bitty sighs.

 _Bitty:_  
_yeah, I’m fine_  
_are you?_

 _Kent:_  
_i guess that depends on how much you regret it_  
_and how much you plan on telling jack_

Well, he hadn’t been _planning_ on telling Jack anything—at least, not until he and Kent are on more stable terms. Which reminds him—

 _Bitty:_  
_have you apologized yet?_  
_and, um. I don’t regret it_

He blushes as he presses send, because—he really doesn’t regret it. He’d thought he might, last night when he’d been tangled up illicitly in Kent’s arms, but the sense of adventure and excitement and arousal hasn’t evaporated; even now, it’s still lingering in his chest.

 _Kent:_  
_no not yet :\_  
_scared_  
_fuck_

Bitty stares at the admission. Kent’s scared, scared of _Jack_ —and Bitty can understand that feeling easily, because there had been a time where Jack had made him feel like the smallest person in the world.

 _Bitty:_  
_I’m sorry :\_  
_but honestly it’ll be better if you get it over with??_

 _Kent:_  
_yeah ur right_  
_okay wish me luck…_  
_comfort him for me if he needs/wants?_

 _Bitty:_  
_if he’ll let me, yeah._  
_good luck :)_

 _Kent:_  
_thanks for not regretting it btw_  
_i know it’s not like super normal_

_Bitty:  
I um. had fun, so. it was okay :)_

_Kent  
thanks :)_

Then Kent goes silent for a couple of hours, during which Bitty makes lunch and feeds the remaining frogs, then sits in the armchair in the living room and watches TV with Holster and Ransom. The way Bitty jumps a mile high when his phone buzzes makes both of them raise their eyebrows in suspicion, but he fends them off with the ‘ _I thought I had it on silent!_ ’ excuse and flees to his room. There, he dives into his bed, nervously unlocking his phone to read the text.

_Kent:  
so. I think it’s gonna be okay_

Bitty feels lighter in a way he hadn’t expected at all—he hadn’t known how anxious he was about it until just before he’d read Kent’s words.

_Bitty:  
really?? that’s great!_

_Kent:_  
_there’s still a lot of shit between us but i think it might actually work out this time_  
_God, thank you so much_

_Bitty:  
you’re welcome! that was all you though, really_

_Kent:  
i’m so happy Bitty_

Bitty’s about to reply that he’s happy, too, when he realizes—shit. Wait. Does this mean Kent and Jack are going to get back together?

Fuck.

His heart just about tears itself apart imagining it.

God, he hadn’t even known Jack liked boys, and now that he knows, he’s probably still going to lose him to Kent—although, he guesses he can’t really complain, even though it hurts a fuck-ton, worse than burning his hand on the oven. Because Kent did love Jack first, so Bitty guesses that if anyone has claim over him, it’s Kent. If Jack wants to date Kent, that is, but Bitty privately thinks it’s fairly likely that Jack does indeed want him.

Stomach churning, he feeds Kent an excuse about having to go pack and hides his phone under his pillow for a while. However, instead of packing, he obstinately avoids his suitcase and turns on his webcam, a heavy feeling in his throat.

“Hey y’all,” he starts somberly, not really sure of what to say. “I had a weird night. I’m feeling kinda lonely right now, to tell ya the truth.”

xXx

Bitty hadn’t expected Kent to text him again at all. Knowing Kent had passed in the blink of an eye, stolen kisses and dirty texts over within twenty-four hours. Bitty sends cookies off with Jack when Jack leaves for break and receives a grudgingly happy text in return. Then he has a holiday filled with catching up on gossip with Mama, trying to talk football with Coach, and hiding from his homophobic uncle lest he try and start some sort of conversation about how Bitty “shoulda found some nice gals up at college, now.”

It’s Thursday, the night before he leaves for Samwell, that Kent messages him.

_Kent:  
hey, i’m gonna be around this weekend just so you know_

Bitty stares at it. Besides the message being incredibly vague, he’s not sure he _wants_ to see Kent again, because seeing Kent last time had left him with nearly too many emotions to handle. And what is _around_ supposed to mean—around the Haus, around Boston, the east coast?

Just then, his phone vibrates again.

_Kent:  
i’m uh, visiting jack at ur school_

Well, that answers one question. Except now Bitty’s even more conflicted, because Kent’s visiting _Jack_ , and that could mean any number of things about how their relationship is going to go from here on out. Feeling leaden, he tightens his lips at his phone.

_Bitty:  
good for you, then_

And he _knows_ he’s being passive-aggressive but he can’t really help it right now, because he’d planned on spending the weekend hanging around the Haus and watching movies and maybe getting to chirp Jack if he’s in a good mood, but now he’s probably going to have to watch Kent and Jack flirt instead. God.

Kent’s already there when Bitty arrives at Samwell, but Bitty doesn’t see him until dinnertime, when he’s making chicken marsala in the kitchen and chatting with Chowder. The front door opens, and Bitty hears Kent talking, and then—Jack walks in too and laughs, heartily, happily. Bitty’s never heard him laugh like that, freely, openly, and a lump forms in his throat because God—Bitty can’t make him laugh like that.

He keeps his eyes on the frying pan and doesn’t register that Chowder’s trying to get his attention until long after Kent and Jack have passed by.

Later that night, most everyone crowds into the living room to watch a movie, some action flick that Bitty thinks Shitty picked. He’s not incredibly certain though; he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been too busy trying to find a seat as far away as possible from where Jack and Kent are sitting, pressed too close together on the couch of doom.

The movie starts, and everyone’s talking over it as usual, so it’s not too strange that Bitty can’t seem to pay attention. Normally he loves the atmosphere, listens in as Shitty dissects exactly why the female character should have more of a role in the film, snorts at Ransom and Holster’s chirping and rolls his eyes fondly when Dex and Nursey fight.

But normally he always tries to catch Jack’s eye at the funny parts. Tonight he’s steadfastly avoiding even looking at Jack. Tonight he feels slightly queasy at the thought of having to sit through an entire movie like this.

He makes it about forty-five minutes in before he excuses himself to make a pie and flees into the kitchen. The stress baking helps a little, and he knows no one will complain.

And at least when Kent corners him fifteen minutes after that, he’s surrounded by the comforting smell of freshly peeled apples and the familiar feel of dough beneath his fingertips. “Hey,” Kent says, leaning against the counter. “Need any help with that?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bitty’s voice comes out sweeter than usual, though he hopes Kent doesn’t notice. And ordinarily he would be fine having a little help at this point, having someone pass him ingredients and keep him company, but not Kent. Anyone but Kent.

“All right,” Kent says. Bitty adds several spices into the bowl with the apples, mixes them together, then sets his spoon down and picks up a rolling pin so he can roll out the crust. It takes one, two, three passes before Kent speaks again. “Are you mad at me?”

Bitty swallows and has to force himself to keep rolling the crust. _Mad_ seems too intimate for how he feels about Kent, seems too simple of a word to describe the jealousy that’s gnawing delicately at his innards even now. So he turns the dough and says, “No, I’m not.”

Kent sighs. “Really? Because you seem mad.”

Bitty’s tempted to look over at the disappointed tone in Kent’s voice, but he keeps his eyes down, inspecting the thickness of his dough instead. It could use a couple of more turns. “Well, I’m not.”

“ _Bitty_ ,” Kent says, and he sounds so distressed now that Bitty can’t resist flicking his eyes upward.

He’d expected Kent to brush it all off, to go back to Jack and continue their happy little love story. Instead, Kent’s gripping the counter with one hand so hard his knuckles are white, and he looks visibly shaken—as if Bitty actually means something to him, which is kind of absurd.

It had only been one night.

Sobered, Bitty sighs, setting down the rolling pin because for once in his life the pie can wait. “I’m not—I’m not mad. Maybe a lil jealous, though,” he admits, not meeting Kent’s eyes.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Kent says quietly.

Bitty has to bite back a small noise of alarm, because even though he’d thought those words to himself when he’d been sad and alone and crying in Georgia, thinking of Kent and Jack together, thinking, ‘ _I hate him, I hate Kent,_ ’ he’d never intended to admit it aloud. Because he doesn’t really hate him. Hating him would be unfair.

But that doesn’t stop him from _disliking_ him.

Either way, he has to give an answer. “No,” he says firmly, holds onto it like a lifeline.

“Really,” Kent says, and his tone has turned dry.

“I don’t,” Bitty says, starting to feel exasperated. He wishes Kent would leave it alone. “I don’t hate you, and I’m not really mad at you. And even if I wasn’t mad? I wouldn’t punch you, you know, so stop trying to make me—“

He cuts off suddenly because fuck, he’s definitely just made a really huge misstep. Oh, Lord.

When Bitty can bear to look up, he does, and—oh, gosh. Kent looks so wounded that Bitty wants to hug him, even though he still feels so frustrated he could cry. “Low fucking blow,” Kent mumbles roughly, and then, “I know you wouldn’t. Fuck. All right,” he turns sharply to the side.

“Kent—“

“Obviously you don’t want me here, so—“

“ _Kent!_ ”

Bitty’s eyes have squeezed shut of their own accord, and when he looks up he finds that he’s grabbed Kent’s shoulder in the flurry of his alarm. Both of them are silent for a moment because there’s a chance someone might’ve heard Bitty’s voice, but the movie in the living room sounds like it’s showing a fight scene and Bitty thinks that’s more than loud enough to hide his near-shout.

When no one pops their head around the entryway, Bitty peels his hand from Kent’s arm—his palms are sweating, and he feels a little bad for subjecting Kent to that. “Sorry,” he blurts out, turning to stare at his abandoned pie crust. He needs to finish it so it won’t dry out, so he picks up the rolling pin but can’t quite bring himself to use it.

“You weren’t wrong,” Kent mumbles slowly. “I still think about you punching me—God, it’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Bitty fights the tremble that wants to happen in his lip. “Kent—Listen. I really, really didn’t mean to make you ashamed. That was awful of me and you don’t deserve that, okay?” Kent is still silent, so Bitty looks up at him again. “Kent? …Okay?”

Sighing, Kent nods. “Okay,” he says solemnly, slouching back against the counter. “And—I’m really sorry for making you jealous. Just—God, I’m really sorry, but I wanna be friends with him so badly, and—fuck. Like, I really hate that I’m doing this to you, but I can’t pass this up, I _can’t_ —“ He wraps his arms around himself, looking steadfastly at the tiled floor.

Bitty understands. He really does, but understanding doesn’t stop the jealousy, not when he knows he has at least another night of watching the two of them crack jokes and grin at each other, carefree like nothing had ever divided them at all. It’s somehow worse than thinking Jack was straight, because this means that Bitty could have had a chance, but he’s just not good enough, not compared to Kent—and he knows that’s a shitty way to feel about himself but he just can’t bring himself to care right now.

He lifts his rolling pin and starts rolling out the crust again. “I know,” he murmurs quietly.

“Okay,” Kent says. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Bitty says again, swallowing against the lump in his throat that’s the size of one of the apples he’d just peeled and cut.

“Just so you know, nothing’s happened between us,” Kent says quietly, and Bitty’s head flies up.

“O-oh,” he blinks. He shouldn’t be as happy about that as he is.

“I dunno. We might just be friends this time around, and honestly I’d be really fucking happy with just that. So—you might not have to worry about me. Besides, I live in fucking Vegas, and as much as I—uh, love him, I don’t think he’s gonna follow me there.” Kent looks a little out of breath from the speed of his monologue, and Bitty’s struck speechless for a moment, rolling pin feeling strange in his hands.

He’s just opened his mouth to maybe babble a reply when Jack walks in. “There you are, Kenny,” he says, an almost-smile at his lips, and the ease of the nickname sends Bitty spiraling in his jealousy all over again.

“Hey, Zimms. Just keeping Bits company,” Kent straightens with a grin, and oh, Bitty’s heart hurts so much that he wants to leave, pie be damned.

Except then Jack looks at him and grins. “Hey, Bittle. Didn’t get a chance to talk earlier,” he leans a hand on the kitchen table, looking casual as all-can-be.

“H-hi, Jack,” Bitty just barely manages to keep his voice peppy, and then suddenly he and Jack are caught in the easy banter that he’d missed so much over the break. Kent pipes in every once in a while and Bitty puts his pie in the oven, tension with Kent momentarily forgotten in this little bit of bliss.

xXx

Jack goes to bed early that night as he always does, and Bitty stays up until the frogs leave, then putts around the kitchen making sure everything’s in order before he turns the light out. When he peeks into the living room on his way up to his room, everyone’s gone except Kent—who’s dozing on the couch of doom.

Bitty wrinkles his nose reflexively. “You don’t mean to sleep on that, do you?”

“Huh?” Kent twists his head to look at him. “Well, yeah. Jack said I could, and I don’t feel like going back to my hotel.”

“But—“ Bitty starts, then shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s your funeral.”

“What?” Kent splutters a laugh, sitting up. “Oh, the couch? It’s not that bad.”

“Says you,” Bitty raises an eyebrow.

“So what’s the alternative? Sleeping with Jack?” Kent shoots back.

Bitty turns red. “Um.”

Laughing slightly, Kent runs his hand through his hair. “Kidding. I don’t think he’d want me to.”

He sounds self-conscious and just a little bit devastated. Bitty’s heart thumps in his chest, because he feels bad for him—for now and for earlier, for making Kent feel all sorts of unpleasant things, he’s sure. And Bitty’s still jealous, but maybe not as much now that he’s thought about it—if Kent and Jack aren’t dating then there’s no reason for the jealousy just yet.

“Well,” he crosses his arms. “I never take up the whole bed, you know.”

Kent stares at him. “Oh?”

And God, he’s gonna make Bitty say it, isn’t he. “So you can come up if you want,” Bitty says quickly, blushing, swearing to himself that he won’t regret this no matter how much it sounds like a pick-up line.

Kent smiles slowly. “Huh. Okay.”

Nervousness skitters up and down Bitty’s spine as he leads Kent up to his room and shuts the door behind them, locking it for good measure. “If you wanna leave before anyone gets up, that’s fine,” he allows, wondering if he should bother trying to change into different clothes if he’s already wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Deciding it’s not worth the effort, he crosses the room, surreptitiously hiding Señor Bun as he climbs into bed.

“All right,” Kent says after a moment as he briefly flicks through his phone before shoving it in the pocket of his jeans. He shrugs out of his flannel, exposing his thin undershirt, and drapes it haphazardly over the back of Bitty’s chair. Then he clears his throat. “I, uh—didn’t bring a change of clothes?”

“Oh,” Bitty breathes, pausing halfway into sliding under the covers. “You might—get warm? In jeans?”

“Yeah,” Kent swallows visibly. “Do you have anything I can borrow, or—?”

Bitty thinks of Kent wearing Bitty’s short shorts for approximately two seconds before flushing and dismissing the idea entirely. “Just—don’t worry about it. Boxers are fine,” he pulls the blanket into his lap before Kent can see that he’s half-hard just from thinking about Kent stripping. God, the air is so charged around him that he’s vibrating with it, with the thought that Kent’s going to get into his bed and—and Bitty still wants him, doesn’t he? As strange as that is, he can’t deny how much he wants Kent to shuck his clothes and kiss him until they’re drunk from it.

“Okay,” Kent pops the button on his jeans, and Bitty nearly lets out a yelp at the sound. Kent Parson is undressing in his room, oh God. They’d made out and they’d done the sexting thing, and Bitty’s not a prude but this is totally new and he _wants_ it.

Kent pushes his jeans down his hips, shakes his legs out of them and straightens up. And then he’s standing there in his boxers and—he’s hard. He’s hard, and Bitty’s staring at him, and Kent’s looking back with an unapologetic tilt of his lips.

Bitty takes a deep breath, gathers up the courage scattered in his veins. “C’mere,” he says to Kent, patting the space beside him.

Smirking, Kent climbs onto the bed, sitting on his knees next to Bitty. “Hey,” he says, and Bitty would maybe be annoyed by the smirk if it wasn’t so damn sexy. Slowly, deliberately, Bitty pushes the blankets off of his lap, revealing his tented shorts.

Kent gives a satisfying groan at the sight, and oh God, this is happening.

Grabbing the collar of Kent’s undershirt, Bitty pulls him in, and the first touch of their lips is like wildfire. Bitty can’t resist leaning up into it, pressing into Kent’s body and sliding his hands anywhere he can reach, from Kent’s chest all the way around to his firm ass—and when Bitty squeezes there, Kent groans quietly. “Fuck,” Kent pulls away, kisses him again, once, twice. “Fuck.”

“Mhmm,” Bitty says, although it comes out as more of a moan than he’d meant it to. His toes are tingling, God, he wants this, all of this.

And then Kent reaches down and puts a hand on Bitty’s leg, mid-thigh. “This okay?” he slides his thumb up and down, and his hand feels hot on Bitty’s skin.

“Yes,” Bitty says without hesitating. He might regret this later, but he’s damn sure that this will at least feel really fucking good, and he needs that now, he needs to forget—

“And this?” Kent says, sliding his hand up and up and up, and then he’s cupping Bitty’s erection through the fabric of his shorts and Bitty can’t stop whimpering.

“I—I, Kent, yes, nn—“ He scrabbles at Kent’s undershirt, manages to get it halfway off of him, and then Kent sits up and takes it all the way off, flicking it into the floor and then eyeing Bitty’s t-shirt too. Bitty stretches up and lets Kent pull it off, revels in the feel of Kent’s hands and eyes, hot as they slide over his skin. “God,” he chokes out when Kent thumbs the hem of his shorts.

“What do you want?” Kent jerks lightly at the fabric, and Bitty’s shorts slide down on one side, exposing his hipbone.

“U-um,” Bitty whimpers, because he’s so turned on he can barely think. “Touching, I want—I want you to touch me,” he says, squirming, and Kent’s grin lights Bitty up inside as Kent motions for him to lift his hips. Then Kent’s pulling Bitty’s shorts and boxers off of him, and Bitty’s too aroused to be nervous about the fact that Kent can see all of him—and Kent appears to like it, enough to smile and lean up and pepper Bitty’s chest and stomach with kisses.

Then Kent’s hand is at his hip, sliding closer, and wrapping around Bitty’s cock with a firm grip that makes him want to scream. Kent jerks him once, twice, propping himself up on one arm and grinning up at him. “Want me to suck you off?”

“Oh—!” Bitty has to close his eyes for a second, because Kent’s mouth is already so close to his cock, and he can just imagine—“I—I, yes, plea— _Kent_!”

Kent sucks him down, bobs up, the head of Bitty’s cock pressing against his cheek in a way that’s absolutely obscene, and Kent’s so hot and slick around him as he moves that Bitty has to clench his fingers in his sheets or risk coming immediately. “Okay?” Kent pulls off for a second, wiping his mouth.

“Y-yeah,” Bitty shivers, wondering if this is a reciprocal thing, if he’ll get to blow Kent too—and he thinks he really, really wants to.

“Wanna come yet or hold off?” Kent takes Bitty in hand again, stroking leisurely.

“I—I’ll wait,” Bitty says, just in case he feels different once he’s not quite so horny anymore—he doesn’t want to feel different, because the amount of arousal Kent’s making him feel right now is so fucking exhilarating.

“Do you—um—” Kent blushes. Up till now he’d seemed very collected, but his façade seems to be cracking, breaking into bits with how much he’s flushed and panting.

“Wanna suck you off?” Bitty tries to finish for him.

Kent lets out a low groan. “Ohh, fuck. Um, yeah, that, but also—I dunno. If you wanted, I mean—I was thinking we could try the biting thing.”

Bitty’s eyes widen—oh. That. He—oh. He wants it. “I think—that would be okay,” he says, voice laden with the force of desire he feels, the force that’s pushing him into wanting to do all sorts of naughty things. He wonders if Kent would fuck him. Maybe now isn’t the best time, but he’ll think about it, because if they ever end up doing this again—well. He might just be amenable to it.

“Thank fuck,” Kent smiles a little breathlessly, leaning forward and pressing his face into Bitty’s chest. Bitty’s taken aback by how vulnerable he seems, head a warm heavy weight on Bitty’s skin, and it takes him a second to realize Kent’s shaking—vibrating, like a train wreck waiting to happen.

Bitty slides his hand cautiously into Kent’s curls, takes a deep breath and tugs. Kent groans, raises his head wordlessly, and stops shaking. Bitty doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one.

“Here, I’ll—here,” Kent slides to the side, and it takes some maneuvering on Bitty’s twin bed (he’d nearly been lying when he’d said there’s always extra space) but they manage to flip around so that Kent’s on his back and Bitty’s straddling his legs.

“So—I’d assume you don’t want, um, visible stuff?” Bitty asks, tucking his fingers under the edge of Kent’s boxers and tugging them down.

“Uhh—shit, yeah, probably not,” Kent kicks his boxers the rest of the way off while Bitty stares at his cock, flushing slightly—it’s leaking at the tip, thinner than Bitty’s but longer, and he wants to touch it so he does, causing Kent to arch up with a groan. “Ah, f-fuck—um, just stay clear of my neck and it should be okay?”

“All right,” Bitty drawls, smoothing his other hand over Kent’s hip, then sliding it up over Kent’s admittedly gorgeous abs and chest. He picks a spot on Kent’s collarbone and taps at it. “What about here?”

“Nn—yes,” Kent gasps out as Bitty leans up over him. Feeling nervous but excited, Bitty moves closer, licking a stripe along Kent’s collarbone before coming back to that spot and sinking his teeth in.

Kent’s whole body jerks underneath him, and he lets out a long, wordless groan. “Was that okay?” Bitty sits up to look at him.

“Yeah, yeah—fuck. That’s good. Keep doing that,” Kent says, his voice sounding strained.

“Okay,” Bitty says, and picks a spot slightly below that to nip at, then another, and each time Kent jolts beneath him, his pulse fluttering wildly beneath Bitty’s lips.

“You can—fuck—do it harder, if you want,” Kent groans out, and so Bitty finds a spot just below Kent’s nipple and _bites_.

Kent absolutely keens, arching up beneath him, dick bobbing against Bitty’s chest. Encouraged, Bitty does it again, again, careful not to break skin but most definitely leaving marks all down Kent’s chest and stomach. He’s a little gentler when he reaches Kent’s hips, but this is the part that makes his heart flutter the most, and when he looks up to see the scattered pattern of marks on Kent’s skin he feels a rush of blood flow to his groin—God. “I—I wanna suck you now,” he says, gripping at Kent’s hip, and Kent’s so gone that all he can do is nod.

And Bitty hasn’t done this before but he’s read enough descriptions that it doesn’t take too long for him to figure it out. He sucks Kent down as far as he can take before pulling back up and licking the salt away from the head, and maybe he’s using a little more teeth than he should but Kent’s continuously whimpering now, soft little sobs that are tearing Bitty apart.

He doesn’t really want Kent to come in his mouth so he pulls off when it seems like Kent’s close, lying beside him and tugging at Kent’s cock. “Hey,” he says softly, brushing his lips against Kent’s ear. “What if I punched you right now?”

Kent’s eyes fly wide open. He comes with a sob, shuddering, spilling all over Bitty’s hand. Heart beating faster than he can skate on the ice, Bitty strokes him through it, through shudders that wrack Kent’s body so hard it looks almost painful, and finally when Kent lies still, Bitty pulls his hand away.

He doesn’t really think about it, other than the fact that his hand’s a mess and he needs to clean it off. He doesn’t think about it until he’s doing it, pushing his fingers toward Kent’s mouth, and Kent accepts it, sucking Bitty’s fingers down and lapping up his own semen, oh God, _oh God_ , Bitty’s never been so hard in his entire life. “Kent—I need— _please_ ,” he whines.

Quick as a flash, Kent pushes Bitty’s mostly clean hand away, crawling down his body and sucking Bitty down, and Bitty can’t help pushing up into it—fuck. He apologizes, and Kent gives a minute shake of the head and takes him down _farther_ , fuck, and then Bitty’s coming, coming down Kent’s throat, hips jerking—and he accidentally cries out so loud that he has to muffle it with his own fist.

When he can think again, Kent is flopped over next to him, panting as hard as Bitty is. There’s an outline of a handprint on his shoulder, and Bitty realizes that he must’ve grabbed his arm when he came, hard enough to maybe even bruise. “S-sorry,” he says, motioning to the mark with his eyes wide.

Kent laughs sleepily, patting Bitty’s hip. “You don’t need—to apologize for anything, Bits,” he says weakly.

Bitty frowns in alarm. “Are—are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah—fine,” Kent waves a hand in the air, but his gaze looks a little off-center and Bitty’s worried anyway. He looks down at Kent’s body, at his chest marked with bite-marks and the semen smeared over his stomach. They both need to get cleaned up, so Bitty slides out of the bed, grabbing for his bathrobe. “Wait—where are you going?” Kent says, and he sounds almost panicked.

“I’m just running to the bathroom—I’m gonna get a washcloth. That okay?” Bitty walks over to stand by the bed, smoothing his fingers over the lines in Kent’s forehead.

Slowly, Kent relaxes and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Just don’t leave?”

“Of course not,” Bitty says. He almost adds _‘It’s my room_ ,’ but he stops himself at the last moment because Kent seems way too raw, too shattered for chirping right now.

Bitty is in and out of the bathroom as quickly as he can be without being too loud, and when he comes back Kent gives him a relieved smile, and Bitty wonders and wonders about it as he takes a warm washcloth to Kent’s stomach and thighs.

He feels uneasy. God, he really might be in over his head.

Tossing the washcloth in the hamper, he crawls back into bed, and it seems surprisingly natural for Kent’s head to fall onto Bitty’s chest. Kent curls into him, sighing in a manner that Bitty hopes is good, and shuts his eyes.

Bitty lies awake for a long time, holding Kent, thinking, worrying.

xXx

Bitty’s surprised to find Kent still there when he wakes up in the morning. “Hey,” Bitty nudges him awake. “Didn’t you wanna leave before Jack noticed you were in here?”

“Don’t worry,” Kent mumbles, blinking his eyes open and yawning. “I texted him last night. Told him I was going back to the hotel after all. He won’t expect me on the couch.”

“Oh,” Bitty swallows, “Okay.” He sits up to check his clock. “He’s usually at the gym around now on Saturdays, if we’re lucky?”

“Sounds good,” Kent heaves himself up.

There’s a heavy pause, and then Kent leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. Bitty’s skin burns where Kent’s lips had touched him—he flushes, looking down at the sheets. “What was that for?”

Kent shrugs. “Why not? I wanted to,” he says, and Bitty’s heart starts racing at that.

“This—“ Bitty bites his lip. “Um, that was—really, really good. And—I dunno,” he lets out a sharp sigh.

“What? You wanna know if—if it’ll happen again?” Kent asks, and Bitty nods. “Well—I dunno. Kinda depends on Jack, I guess. And whether you still hate me or not.”

Bitty frowns. “I don’t!”

Kent raises his eyebrows. “But you did at one point, didn’t you?”

Bitty gives a guilty whimper. “I—“ God, no.

“It’s all right,” Kent says, leaning forward and knocking his forehead against Bitty’s. “I might’ve hated you a little bit, before you came and yelled at me.”

“The yelling made you like me more?” Bitty squints at him.

“Yeah. And, well—what came after,” Kent huffs a laugh. “Besides. Maybe if I can get you angry enough you’ll finally punch me.”

Bitty stares at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t—not while angry, that wouldn’t be good,” he furrows his brow.

“Yeah, you’re right. Joking,” Kent says, but his voice is solemn and he suddenly doesn’t sound like he’s joking at at all.

Bitty doesn’t know what to think of it, so instead, he leans over and wraps Kent in a hug. It startles a bubble of laughter out of Kent, so Bitty holds on extra-long because hearing Kent laugh makes him a little dizzy. “I wouldn’t say no if, um. If you wanted to do it again sometime,” he pulls back, eyeing Kent pensively.

Kent grins easily at him, and Bitty’s heart feels a little lighter. “Sure,” Kent says, reaching over and squeezing his knee. “You were really good, Bits.”

“Thanks,” Bitty flushes. Then Kent’s looking at him funny, so he asks, “What?”

“I don’t care all that much, but—you haven’t done that before, have you?” Kent tilts his head.

Swallowing, Bitty shakes his head. “Sorry.”

Kent waves a hand in dismissal. “No, no, don’t worry about it. Just wondering. Hey, how old are you, anyway? You’re in Jack’s year right?”

Bitty accidentally laughs at that. “Hah, um. Actually, I’m a couple years below him. I’m, um, nineteen.”

Kent lets out a low whoosh of air, and Bitty’s a little worried until Kent opens his mouth. “Welp. Still legal, so,” he shrugs wryly.

“Yeah,” Bitty chuckles, relieved.

“Shit, what am I even doing with my life now? Seducing younger boys, it looks like,” Kent laughs and shakes his head, falling back down against the pillows.

“I’d like to think it was mutual,” Bitty says, nudging him and hiding a snicker. “We should get up before Jack gets back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kent smirks up at him. “Make me.”

Bitty levels a glare back at Kent. Normally his response would be a light punch in the arm, but this time—“I’m not going to punch you,” he rolls his eyes, and he knows that he’d been correct in assuming that Kent was goading him when he sees the laughter in Kent’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Kent slides his hands behind his head, his smirk unmoving. “I know.”

xXx

Kent ends up having to leave earlier than expected that weekend, which unfortunately means they don’t get another night. Bitty feels a little mopey in the weeks afterwards because Kent is definitely texting Jack—he can tell by the beginnings of smiles that appear on Jack’s face sometimes when he’s looking at his phone.

But Kent doesn’t text Bitty nearly as much, and Bitty worries about it until he makes himself too upset to eat dinner one night, and then he decides that he’s sick of worrying and tries to stop thinking about Kent altogether.

It works. Mostly.

Something else happens in the weeks that stretch on and on, taking him farther and farther away from Kent—Jack starts to relax around him. At first it’s words, leaning against Bitty’s door and chatting before bed, and then small touches—the first time Jack squeezes his shoulder in thanks for a (very small) slice of pie, Bitty thinks his heart might burst.

And one night, while they’re crowded on the couch laughing over a particularly comical game show, Jack puts his arm around him. Bitty sits there for probably ten minutes, stiff as a rod, before he realizes that it’s probably okay to relax—and so he does, and Jack eyes him with a smile that’s half chirping and half genuine, and this—this is okay.

Sometimes Bitty nearly forgets that Jack doesn’t know about Bitty and Kent. He has to be very careful not to bring it up, because he’s kind of prone to babbling when Jack is around and he really doesn’t want it to slip out on accident. He does ask Jack who he’s texting once, when Jack’s insisted on buying him coffee at Annie’s for the second time that week.

“Hmm? Kent,” Jack says, and Bitty doesn’t even think he’s aware of the little smile that plays at the edges of his lips as he says it.

“What’re ya talking about?” Bitty asks, sipping at his latte. It’s a bit too hot, hot enough that he burns his tongue a little, so he sets it back down on the table in front of him.

Jack shrugs. “You know. Stuff. Hockey.”

Bitty snorts. Knowing Jack and Kent, they probably _are_ talking about hockey, and Bitty doesn’t know why he’d expected a different answer.

School goes on. Bitty manages to remember most of his homework assignments and goes to practice and sometimes plays in games.

Then there’s the play-offs.

Everyone takes the loss hard, especially Jack, and when Bitty finds him out on the loading dock his heart nearly breaks for him—God, _Jack_ —and they hug for a very long time, Bitty’s pulse slow against Jack’s shaking body.

A week after that, Kent texts him for the first time in a month, sending Bitty’s heart pounding into a frenzy as he opens it.

_Kent:  
hey, jack invited me over for the weekend. is that ok?_

Shoving his phone in his pocket, Bitty makes himself finish walking home from class before he answers it. Once there, he slings his backpack over his desk chair and sits on his bed, pulling his phone back out.

_Bitty:  
yeah that’s fine_

Kent hasn’t texted him in an entire month. Worse, Bitty had started nearly all of the conversations leading up to that, and they’d ended with Kent forgetting to reply—God. Bitty’s smart enough to know that he’s being blown off, even though it hurts worse than hitting the ice when he’d been concussed.

As much as it feels like a heavy, horrible stone in his gut, he needs to cut his losses

_Bitty:  
look you don’t have to expect anything from me. it’s fine_

But just as he presses the send button, he feels the buzz of an incoming text and his heart jumps into his stomach.

_Kent:  
looking forward to seeing you :)_

Oh God. What has he done? Oh God.

 _Kent:_  
_uhhhhhhh_  
_shit nvm, you don’t have to hang out with me if you don’t want…_  
_it’s ok_  
_fuck sorry_

Bitty groans, frustration and anxiousness all pent up together, because he’s sent the wrong thing and now it’s all fucked up. Worse, he has no idea what Kent’s thinking either—wait. Oh. Oh, God.

Kent’s probably just using him for sex. Oh, God. That’s why he’d been excited to see Bitty—he doesn’t want to _talk_ to him. He just wants what they’d had last time, wants what he’d had with Jack and hasn’t had since— _God_. The thought hits him hard, like the train that was Kent wrecking against his chest. Fuck, how had he not seen it? Somehow, somewhere in there, he’d almost convinced himself that Kent might have cared. Fuck.

He wants to cry.

_Bitty:  
you know what fuck you_

He’s too upset to regret sending the text, letting his phone slide down onto the bed as a small sob escapes his lungs, then another. God, he’d thought he was over this all, but he’s not, he’s not, and it’s too much—

His phone buzzes, then keeps buzzing. It’s an incoming call, not a text—and it’s Kent, of course it is. He debates pressing ignore.

But because he hurts, and he wants so badly not to hurt right now, because maybe Kent can fix this—he answers it.

“What?” he presses the phone to his ear, proud of himself for not letting his voice shake.

“Hey, Bits—Fuck. I’m so sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

“N-no,” Bitty says, but this time his voice trembles.

“Bits…” Kent trails off, and Bitty can hear the phone shifting, can hear shouting in the background.

“Where are you?” he asks brusquely. He can’t hide a sniffle.

“I’m at the rink for a media thing. Well, hiding in the locker room. We were mostly done,” Kent sighs. “Seriously though, what did I do?”

“Look. Couldn’t you have told me you only liked me for the sex?” Bitty blurts out, words a half-sob, and no, no, he shouldn’t have said that. God, Kent hadn’t even said he’d _liked_ him at all, and Bitty’s just jumping aimlessly from one conclusion to another, so fast he’s dizzy from it—oh, no, oh God.

“Bitty—no. No, Bits, what do you mean? I—fuck, the guys are coming in. I’ll call you when I get to my car, okay? Please pick up again?” Kent sounds worried, almost panicked, and it takes Bitty completely by surprise.

He grits his teeth against the burning in his throat. “Okay,” he says, and then he hangs up before Kent can hear him actually cry.

It’s a long half hour until Kent calls him again. “Hi,” he answers the phone, still feeling shaky. At least he’s not crying anymore.

“So, I wasn’t playing you, if that’s what you thought. And I know it probably seemed like that because I stopped texting you, but—honest. That’s not why.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, doing his best to stamp all over the hope that’s trying to rise up in his chest. It still doesn’t mean anything. None of this had meant anything.

“I—fuck. So you should know that I’m really awful at communicating, all right? And—I dunno. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again, and I didn’t know what was gonna happen with Jack, and I didn’t want to let you down if something did happen, or to feel too jealous if you ended up with him. And even if nothing happens, I didn’t want you feeling like you should wait around for me or anything like that, so my stupid ass thought it would be better to stop texting you. And that was obviously dumb, so—y-yeah. Shit, I’m r-really sorry, Bits.”

Bitty’s voice refuses to come out. Kent—he almost sounds like he might be crying, and—the admission is so like him that Bitty knows instinctively it’s all true, there’s no way it _can’t_ be true. The rawness of it reminds him too much of a sleepy head pressed warm and sweaty against his chest, of a body curled into him for warmth and maybe even comfort.

“Bits? Y-you still there?” Kent asks. His voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” Bitty forces the words out from his lungs. “I’m sorry I thought badly of you like that—Lord. I’m so sorry.”

He hears an unsteady breath on the other side of the phone. “Nah, don’t apologize, seriously—fuck. It’s my fault. Please don’t stay mad,” Kent says, voice rough.

Bitty has to sit back against his pillows because he wants nothing more in the world right then but to have Kent in his arms, and Kent’s not here. Kent won’t be here for another week, and even then, Kent’s not Bitty’s. “No, Kent, I’m not—I’m not mad. I’m not,” he promises.

And Kent gives him a shaky, “O-okay.”

The line is quiet for several moments, during which Bitty is pretty sure Kent is holding back from crying more. Bitty’s own eyes are leaking again. He wipes the tears away stubbornly with his arm. “I dunno if—if you and I—if the sex thing is a g-good idea,” he says, and the second half comes out as a sob, his heart sinking down, down, God, what is he doing?

“Fuck, I—fuck. Bits—I dunno, I mean. I kind of—yeah, but—” Kent cuts off, sounding distressed.

Bitty understands the ‘but’, because all of this is so dumb, because Kent lives in Las Vegas and they’ve barely met more than two or three times, and also because they’re both head-over-heels for Jack Zimmermann, God. It’s dumb, but—

But the thought of cutting it all off makes him want to cry even more.

“We can—we can see each other first. Before w-we decide?” he suggests, a sharp pain in his chest, so strong he feels almost numb.

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” Kent says. “We can—we can talk then?” There’s hope in his voice. God.

“Yeah,” Bitty says, a little wobbly.

“So, until then,” Kent says, shaky, and this is so dumb because it’s not even really a break-up but it feels just like one.

“Y-yeah,” Bitty says, wobblier than last time, and then because he can’t take it anymore he hangs up and lets himself cry.

Jack pops his head in the door that night, just as usual. Normally Bitty chats with him until Jack decides to go to bed, grins at him and chirps him mercilessly until they’re both doubled over from laughter. But this time, Bitty’s lying in bed with tear-tracks over his face, and Jack takes one look at him and comes to offer him a hug.

It’s a nice hug, warm and comforting and nothing like Kent. He doesn’t want it to be Kent, but also he kind of he does, and his thoughts are so conflicting that he almost starts crying again. Instead he buries his face in Jack’s chest, and Jack doesn’t ask what’s wrong, just rubs his back in slow little circles until Bitty can breathe easy again.

“Let me know if you need me,” Jack tells him before he leaves, face gentle in its worry.

“Okay,” Bitty says, and it’s nearly a lie because he needs Jack now, needs to be held until he forgets about this all. But they’ve got class tomorrow, and it’d be ridiculous to make Jack stay anyway because—Jack isn’t his either.

Bitty lets him leave.

xXx

Kent texts him all throughout that week. It starts the next morning, Bitty waking up with a dull headache and a half-dozen notifications on his phone. He works his way through them, reaching Kent’s texts last, heart thrumming wildly.

 _Kent:_  
_i almost told jack about us_  
_i didn’t though but he said one of his teammates was upset and it was you, wasn’t it?? i’m so sorry bits_

Kent’s worried about him. It sends a jolt of energy through his heart because Kent cares enough to _worry_ , and that makes Bitty happier than he’d expected it to.

 _Bitty:_  
_hey. it’s okay. I’m okay. really._  
_so um. it’d be okay if you told him?? I think he should find out sometime at least_

It takes a long time for Kent to respond, which Bitty realizes is probably because he’s not awake yet. Even so, he’s nervous as he sits through his first class of the day, taking notes but barely able to absorb any of it.

His phone finally vibrates as he’s paying for his lunch. He almost drops it as he fumbles with his drink cup and tray, and it’s not until he’s seated at the usual team table that he’s brave enough to look.

_Kent:  
are you gonna date him?_

 A lump forms rapidly in Bitty’s throat.

 _Bitty:_  
_I… um. Kent I don’t know_  
_???_  
_like I don’t even think he likes me like that so_

 _Kent:_  
_i think he does_  
_he was really worried last night_

 _Bitty:_  
_oh_  
_in that case… I dunno. I like him a whole lot but you know that already_

_Kent:  
yeah, i do_

_Bitty:  
I’m sorry :\_

_Kent:  
we’re really great at fucking this up aren’t we_

He’s so absorbed in the conversation—Jack might like him, God, Jack might _like_ him—that when someone claps a hand on his shoulder mid-text, he jolts nearly off of the bench. “Ah—oh, Jack! H-hi!”

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack raises a playful eyebrow at him. “Who’re you talking to?”

Bitty blushes, locking his screen and shoving his phone into his pocket because Jack does _not_ need to see what they’d just been talking about. “Um. Kent,” he says, because he’s pretty shit at lying and he knows it.

“Really? Huh. Didn’t know you two were close,” Jack sits down and starts picking at his chicken tenders.

“He was just telling me you’d invited him over for the weekend.” Bitty picks up his sandwich. It’s only a white lie; Kent had just told him that yesterday, after all.

“Yeah, I did. We’re gonna skate some,” Jack gives him a big, earnest grin.

“Oh! That sounds fun,” Bitty says. The jealousy stirring in his chest; it _does_ sound fun, and—

And he would bet his butter stash for the month that Jack is falling for Kent again. It’s as obvious as an overbaked pie, tucked right into the fond smile Jack wears when he talks about Kent, just like right now, God.

The worst part is that Bitty doesn’t blame him. Kent is— _Kent_.

“Hmm,” Jack hums, tilting his head. “You know, you could come with us if you wanted, since you guys are friends and all.”

 _Friends._ “Oh—!” Bitty flushes. “I wouldn’t, um, want to intrude?”

“I think it’d be fine,” Jack shrugs. “I’ll ask.”

“O-okay,” Bitty says. He takes a bite of his sandwich, and it feels dry in his mouth as he watches Jack pick up his phone and type out a text.

Five minutes later, Bitty’s own phone buzzes.

_Kent:  
you’re coming to skate?_

Biting his lip, because he’d never responded to the ‘ _we’re really great at fucking this up_ ’ text and he’s not sure he wants to. Bitty thumbs in _‘if it’s okay with you?_ ’ and presses send.

 _Kent:_  
_yeah, that’s fine_  
_you with him right now?_

_Bitty:  
mhmm. eating lunch_

_Kent:  
sounds nice_

And then Bitty lets the conversation go for a little while so he can talk to Jack, and Jack chirps him about not having enough protein on his sandwich and Bitty chirps him back about how much he likes chicken tenders. It _is_ nice. Part of him wonders if Kent is jealous.

Kent texts him later that night. Bitty’s surprised by it, because it’s nothing more than a ‘ _whatcha up to?_ ’ but it makes Bitty feel all shivery inside. Kent wants to talk to him, actually talk, not sext or argue or pull out any of the simmering tension that still hovers between them. And talk they do, texting until Bitty goes to bed and then picking up their conversation in the morning. They’re avoiding the sensitive topics, but Bitty finds that he doesn’t mind it at all—he doesn’t _really_ want to think about how they’re probably not having sex again, and how that’s definitely his own fault.

Even though he kind of really wants to have sex with him again.

The night before Kent’s due to come over, Bitty falls asleep on the armchair, leaning against Jack as a movie plays. When he wakes up an hour later, the TV’s off and no one else is in the room except he and Jack. Jack’s on his phone, texting with a serious look on his face, and Bitty stirs and pulls his own phone out from beside the chair cushion.

 _Kent:_  
_he just sent me a picture of u guys lol_  
_you’re cute_  
_you both are cute_

Bitty squints at the texts from barely ten minutes ago, then looks up at Jack, who starts chuckling. “I’m surprised you figured out how to attach the picture,” Bitty grumbles chirpingly.

“Hey! I know that much,” Jack shoots back, pulling up the photo to show him. It’s—really nice looking, actually. It’s a selfie; Jack has his eyebrows raised and a twinkle in his eye, and Bitty’s own face looks peaceful in sleep.

Again, Bitty wonders if Kent’s jealous. He doesn’t think he wants Kent to be jealous.

“Bedtime, Bittle?” Jack asks him, and Bitty nods sleepily and follows him upstairs.

 _Bitty:_  
_thanks :)_  
_I think you’re cute too you know_

 _Kent:_  
_aww i’m blushing_  
_thanks, bits_

It takes Bitty longer than it should to fall asleep. In the end he imagines Kent curling up next to him, and then he wants it so much his fingers ache and a sharp pain splinters through his chest—because Kent’s not here and Bitty can’t touch him.

xXx

Kent’s already at the Haus when Bitty gets back from class on Friday, leaning against the kitchen table and talking with Ransom. When Bitty walks in, dropping his bag on one of the chairs, Ransom excuses himself with a bro-clasp and a “Gotta go study for a cell bio test, catch ya later dude,” for Kent and a “Wassup, Bits?” for Bitty, then leaves.

And now Bitty’s alone with Kent. Pie. He was going to make pie. He starts pulling out the ingredients for the crust, feeling anxious. He’s not saying anything and Kent’s not saying anything and he’s a little scared, a little nervous, until Kent lets out a sigh. “Bits?”

“Yeah?” Bitty thumps the flour container down on the counter.

“C’mere?” Kent says, and then he holds out his arms.

Bitty goes. He goes, and he lets Kent hug him, lets himself relax against Kent’s body, and his heart’s racing so much—it feels so good to have Kent again that he wants to cry. He presses his face into Kent’s shoulder and Kent buries his own face into Bitty’s hair, and they stand there, breathing together, and Bitty feels like they’re bleeding, messy, wordless emotion spilling out of their bodies at every place they touch.

They don’t pull away until the front door creaks open, and then they jump apart and Bitty busies himself with his pie again, skin tingling, God. It’s Jack at the door, home from class, and Bitty can’t help the little flip in his chest when Jack smiles at both of them before going to stow his backpack in his room.

Things are okay after that, tentative but okay. Bitty finishes a pie, then starts and finishes another. Kent offers to drive them somewhere to eat in his rental car, and so they go out, just the three of them, and Bitty’s a little surprised that he’d been invited but he’s still enjoying himself immensely. He sings pop songs with Kent in the car, loudly but mostly on-key, and Jack repeatedly asks “Who is this?” to their amusement. And dinner isn’t awkward either. Both Kent and Jack refuse to let Bitty pay for his own food, and they sit and talk over dessert for a long time afterwards.

Bitty can’t hope for anything; he knows that. But he also knows that he’s happier than he’s ever been, sharing chirps and dopey grins with these two boys, heart pounding like pucks hitting sticks, Lord. He’s definitely way too invested in both of them. It’s a shame that it’s not really something he can do anything about.

Jack heads straight to bed when they get back to the Haus, and Bitty’s sad to see him go, sad to see the moment end. But Kent—Kent’s still there, looking at him expectantly. At least there’s that.

“So,” Kent says, and they’re standing at the foot of the stairs, trapped in indecision.

“So,” Bitty repeats, flushing, feeling jittery.

“You gonna go to bed?” Kent asks him, even though it’s so early that no one but Jack goes to bed at this time.

“Maybe,” Bitty says anyway. “Might want to talk to you more, though.”

“Yeah?” Kent arches a careful brow, and Bitty’s heart beats faster and faster.

He shifts, putting a hand on the stairway railing. “We can, um. Talk in my room?”

“Okay,” Kent says too fast, looking just as surprised at the invitation as Bitty feels.

This time, when Kent follows him upstairs, Bitty’s still just as nervous as last time--but for different reasons. Either they’re going to have sex or they’re never going to do it again, and he’s stunned to realize that against all logic, he still wants Kent so much it’s almost a need. God, he’s missed him, and he’d been so keyed up and worried about everything that he realizes he’s almost been denying it to himself—he’s missed Kent so, so much, everything about him, his cocky grin and his voice and even his scent. Fuck, Bitty’s head is all bloated with emotions, chasing themselves around his brain until he can’t pin down any of his feelings except the overall notion of being slightly queasy.

There’s no point to stopping a train wreck after it’s already happened, no way to stop a hurricane in motion. The only thing they can possibly do is make everything worse, so when Bitty closes the door, he takes Kent’s arm and slowly, slowly backs him into it. “Can we talk like this?”

“Talk?” Kent chuckles, eyebrows raising.

“Mhmm,” Bitty blushes, leaning there against Kent, hands pressed to Kent’s chest, just reveling in the feeling. The queasiness had gone away the second he’d touched Kent, and Kent hasn’t pushed him away, hasn’t yet told him that they shouldn’t do this—and of course he hasn’t, because Bitty was the one who’d suggested they should stop in the first place, when he’d been ripped open and bleeding by thoughts that Kent didn’t really want him—but he thinks that somehow, astoundingly, Kent _does_ want him. Kent, who’s sliding his arms around Bitty’s waist, smirking at him, heart beating against Bitty’s hands nearly as fast as Bitty’s own pulse.

“Talk, or,” Kent smirks.

And then Bitty leans up and kisses him. Kent groans into it, arms tightening around him, and then they’re kissing and kissing until they’re both breathless, mouths sloppy and feverish and so, so wound up in each other that Bitty doesn’t think he ever wants to pull himself away. It feels like they’re spiraling, emotions turning and turning in Bitty’s mind like an enormous storm, and it’s all because of Kent. Kent’s tongue slides wet against his own, and Bitty’s already half-hard—he can feel Kent against his leg, too, can feel the pulsing heat pressing against his thigh. He wants to give Kent everything, all of him that he can, wants to lose himself in this dizzy spiral of things that he feels.

So he breaks the kiss, leans up to Kent’s ear. He’s nearly trembling as he whispers, “I could punch you if you wanted me to.”

Kent gives a surprised laugh, eyes flying wide open. “Bits—shit, really?”

Flushing, Bitty nods. “Yeah,” he gasps out, chest feeling tight.

“God,” Kent groans, and then he tucks his face into the curve of Bitty’s neck. “You really want to?” he mumbles.

“Yes,” Bitty tells him, feeling warm and delirious from the fluttering in his chest.

Kent starts shaking, and Bitty’s worried for a little bit until he realizes Kent’s laughing quietly, so quiet that the sound is barely escaping his mouth. “Okay,” he says, “Okay. But—oh, fuck. Um. So it might be better if it’s not actual punching? I don’t want you to hurt your hand—oh, God. Uh, maybe like? If you’ve got a belt or something?”

Bitty nods, voice caught in his throat, and disentangles himself from Kent so he can rummage in his closet. He pulls out a belt, and Kent comes over and shows him how to fold it over on itself, oh God. Bitty’s nervousness had been quiet before but now it’s shouting in his chest at full volume, and he feels shaky. “What if—what if you want me to stop?”

Kent cups his chin, looking at him like he’s drinking him in, a cautious smile on his lips. “Green means keep going. Yellow is for slowing down. Red—stop. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Bitty nods, and Kent kisses him again. This is good, he likes the kissing, loves it even, but then Kent pulls away and crawls onto Bitty’s bed and Bitty’s hands might just be shaking.

“You all right?” Kent asks him, tugging his own shirt off, fumbling with the clasp on his jeans and stripping them off and now he’s naked, bare in front of him. Bitty nods mutely. He wants to touch and so he does, sitting next to him and putting the belt down, sliding careful hands over Kent’s skin. Kent laughs, and he already has a faraway look in his eye as Bitty kisses his neck.

“Want you,” Bitty whimpers, and Kent groans and rolls onto his stomach.

“’M ready,” Kent says. Bitty lets his eyes travel down, down, to the smooth curve of Kent’s ass.

He picks up the belt.

The first hit is too tentative, he thinks, because Kent doesn’t even jump. Bitty swings harder the second time, and now Kent yelps, shoving his face into Bitty’s pillow. A third, a fourth, and Bitty thinks he’s getting the hang of it but now he’s feeling queasy again, uncomfortable at the way Kent’s ass is getting so, so red. “Is—is it okay?” he chokes out.

“Yeah. ‘S good, don’t worry. Green,” Kent picks his head up to say, words slurring together. He looks somehow content, even though Bitty’s _hitting_ him, and this is so, so different from the biting.

But Kent had said this was okay so Bitty hits him again, again, again, until he’s lost count.

“Zi—“ Kent sighs, cutting off mid-syllable.

“Hmm?” Bitty asks, because that’s not the start of a color.

“Nothing,” Kent mumbles, “Keep going.”

So Bitty dismisses it, raises his hand and strikes him again, the belt landing diagonally across Kent’s ass, and—oh, God. Oh God oh God, Kent’s bleeding, oh God, and it’s just a little bit but Bitty can only stare, he can’t move—“Kent. Kent, you’re—you’re bleeding, Kent—“

“Hey, ‘s okay, Bits,” Kent says, but Bitty really is shaking now.

“I—I c-can’t,” he finally says, and then he’s shaking harder and Kent pushes himself up to look at him in alarm.

“Bits—Bitty, oh no, it’s okay, you don’t—you don’t have to,” Kent’s eyes are wide, and he looks worried and also hurt— _God_. Bitty tosses the belt away and climbs up beside Kent to hug him, letting Kent wrap warm arms around him and shaking so hard he can’t think. He’s embarrassed to find that he’s crying, tears leaking out of his eyes, and he hadn’t even tried to clean up any of the blood but he can’t bring himself to pull away from where Kent’s holding him, tracing warm fingers over his spine and whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Eventually Kent stretches over Bitty for a tissue, then reaches behind himself, and the tissue comes away with barely any blood on it. God, maybe Bitty had overreacted, oh Lord.

“I’m s-sorry,” Bitty presses the words into Kent’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Kent repeats, settling back down to hold him again.

There’s a long moment of silence while Bitty gets his breath back. When he can bear to look at him, he tilts his head up, and Kent looks tired, contemplative. “Kent?”

“You didn’t leave,” Kent says, and he’s not really looking at Bitty.

“Of course not,” Bitty says, swallowing because—oh, God. “Did Jack ever—?”

“What? No, never,” Kent shakes his head immediately. “He—“ He stops, then sighs and pulls Bitty to his chest so that Bitty can no longer see his face. “I can tell you about it, but. I don’t want you to be mad at him because it’s not his fault. It’s not mine, either, just—the circumstances, I think.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, burrowing into Kent, breathing him in and steadying himself.

Kent starts talking, his voice a stream that washes gently over Bitty even though the words should sound harsher. “Zimms—Jack. He liked doing this with me, but—he didn’t _want_ to like it. And, uh. I could pretty much only get him to do it when he was mad at me. Not like, super angry or anything, just a little annoyed. And I know that’s not the healthiest thing, but it worked, and mostly it was okay, except—the last time we did it, he wasn’t annoyed. I convinced him to do it, cuz we’d just been fooling around, and—it started okay. But by the end I was—like, off in my head, and he just—shut down. I dunno. He stopped talking, and when we were done he wouldn’t look at me, and even after that he wouldn’t talk to me about it, so I stopped bringing it up, and—yeah. It sucked a lot. We were young and really fucking stupid, you know?”

Bitty’s breath hitches. “Kent…” He doesn’t really know what to say.

Kent’s hand slides up and down his back, and it strikes Bitty how strange it is that he’s still fully clothed while Kent’s naked next to him. “You all right?” Kent says.

“Yeah,” Bitty says, voice rusty. “I’m—sorry. I messed it up.”

Kent pulls back to stare at him. “No—no, Bits. You were fine. It’s okay, you don’t—you don’t have to like it. I’m—fuck, like, you tried, and that’s more than a lot of other people would have, okay? You were perfect, Bits,” his voice softens at the end.

Bitty’s trembling. _Perfect_ , oh God, Kent thinks he was perfect. “You really mean it?”

“Yeah. ‘Course,” Kent’s gaze shifts into a dopey smile. “I was so hard, Bits. You made me so hard.”

“O-oh,” Bitty swallows, voice catching. “You—really?”

“Mhmm,” Kent says, and kisses him. “I told you—no one’s done anything like this with me, ‘cept Jack. And you—God, I’ve thought about you hitting me for a while, and—uh, yeah. Fuck, Bits, I’m. I’m hard again.”

Bitty checks. He is. “Oh,” Bitty says again, flushing. “You know, I—I thought this would be like the biting, but it—I liked the biting better.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Kent laughs slightly and reaches up, strokes his hand through Bitty’s hair.

“No, I mean—“ Bitty flushes, because now that he’s not so worried about messing up anymore, his desire is returning, swelling between his legs. “I meant maybe we could, um, do that instead?”

Kent’s brows shoot up. “I—yeah, okay,” he grins.

Kent helps him out of his clothes. Then, slowly, lips pressed messily together, they take turns getting each other off, Kent’s lube-slick hand wrapping around Bitty and making him sob—and Kent comes not long after, on a low groan with Bitty’s teeth sunk into the skin of his shoulder, shuddering against Bitty’s mouth.

Then Kent curls into him, one of his hands tangled loosely with Bitty’s. And oh, Bitty feels so warm and safe, enough to fall asleep without even worrying. It’s nice.

xXx

Jack nearly catches them in the morning. Kent has to hide behind the door while Bitty stammers out a “H-hi, Jack! I’m fine, you? Ah—no, I haven’t seen him, sorry!”

Kent’s laughing silently when Bitty finally shuts the door, and Bitty glares at him until Kent tugs him over and kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. It makes Bitty dizzy, enough that he has to cling to Kent’s shirt to avoid falling over, and Kent’s grinning softly at him when Bitty finally finds the courage to ask, “What are we doing?”

Kent quirks an eyebrow at him. “I dunno, Bits. Whatever we want to.”

Bitty’s a little comforted by the fact that Kent seems just as unsure as Bitty does, and he’s about to probe further when Kent’s phone buzzes in his pocket with a text from Jack.

Right. Skating.

The three of them walk to Faber, and Bitty can see the poorly hidden excitement in Jack’s eyes, in the way he’s chattering away with Kent. Kent’s not even trying to hide his excitement; he’s practically skipping as they get closer to the rink.

“You boys do your thing,” Bitty tells them as they’re lacing up their skates in the locker room. They’ve been eyeing each other ever since they’ve stepped foot inside the building, and Bitty’s quite sure they’re planning on doing some sort of one-on-one—and Bitty does _not_ want to be caught in the middle of that, thank you very much.

So while Kent and Jack chase each other on the rink, Bitty keeps to one end and practices old skating moves. He’s not as flexible as he used to be, and it’s harder without the toe-pick but he finds he’s still not bad at some of the jumps if he puts his mind to it.

Leaning against the boards to take a break, he sees that Kent and Jack have momentarily stopped playing—instead they’re laughing, and Kent’s leaning against Jack’s arm, and they look so happy—

And Bitty’s not jealous. It scares him for a moment, enough that he actually goes searching for the jealousy, but it’s not there. He really does want them to be happy, God. And—and it’s not like they’ve pushed him away, either. He’s still here, and then Kent catches his eyes and beckons him over and all at once he’s laughing too, skating to them, so damn happy to be included in their moment.

“Hey, Bits,” Kent pats him on the back, and for a brief, heart-pounding second, Bitty thinks Kent might kiss him—but Kent thinks better of it and pulls his arm away. “You figure-skate?”

“Used to,” Bitty shrugs. “I switched to hockey in high-school.”

“Kent’s sister figure-skates, you know, Bittle,” Jack offers, tossing his stick back and forth from hand to hand.

“Aww, Zimms, you remembered,” Kent grins. “Yeah, she loves it, although she mostly does it on the side now cuz she’s really school-focused and all.”

Bitty smiles, because he can see how much Kent loves her from the warmth in his face. “That’s wonderful,” he offers honestly.

“Hey—you’re tiny, right? Did they ever lift you?” Kent asks him, focus shifting.

Bitty gives him a look. “I’m not _that_ tiny—but yeah, some of the boys practiced with me when their partners were gone. Why?”

Jack starts chuckling, so Bitty’s pretty sure about what Kent’s going to say before he says it. “Anna used to make me practice a couple of moves with her, so I could lift ya if you want,” Kent smirks.

Letting out a sharp laugh, Bitty crosses his arms. “Nothing about your expression right now is making me want to trust you, Kent Parson.”

“Aww, hey. I’m good at it. Right, Zimms? You’ve watched,” Kent nudges Jack with his shoulder.

“Sure. Except for the time you dropped her,” Jack raises an eyebrow.

“That was one time! She didn’t get hurt, anyway,” Kent grumbles, and at that Bitty can’t hold back from laughing until his stomach hurts.

God. These boys.

He doesn’t want to think about when Kent leaves this time, or what might happen if Kent and Jack are ever alone—Bitty’s kind of terrified they’ll leave him behind, blow right over him and leave him to deal with the aftermath.

“Okay,” Bitty says, shaking his head, still chuckling. “Lord, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. You better not drop me, Kent.”

“I won’t,” Kent promises.

Jack goes to sit on the sidelines while they work out the details. And then it’s Bitty and Kent, skating a big loop around the ice, and then Kent’s hands are at his waist and Bitty’s going up, up, up, and these are muscles he hasn’t used in years but he can still hold himself up while Kent turns in a slow spin, around and around. Bitty manages to stay straight-faced until Kent sets him down again, but then he’s laughing in delight, spinning more, taking Kent’s hands and making Kent spin with him until they both have to stop from dizziness. “Lord,” Bitty says, a few spare giggles escaping his lungs.

“I know,” Kent says, and he’s got a fond grin on his face.

Bitty would kiss him if Jack weren’t watching.

Bitty wants to kiss him.

Bitty—

“That was really cool,” Jack is saying, skating back over to them. Bitty fights to keep the smile on his face, but inside he feels shaky because oh God, _God_ , he’s just realized—

He’s in love with Kent Parson.

In love. With Kent.

“I’m gonna—go get some water,” he excuses himself, mind whirling, skating out of the rink as quickly as possible. Then he hightails it to the locker room, scrambling in his head for an excuse—he’ll say he was hungry, and he’s heading back to the Haus to eat something. Of course, even as he sends the text (to Jack, because Jack will look at his phone later than Kent would), he knows that he’s probably going to head straight to his room to hide, but they don’t need to know that.

_He’s in love with Kent._

xXx

Bitty had grabbed a snack from the kitchen, then he’d gone and laid in bed and thought and thought until he almost made himself sick with it. Eventually he’d fallen asleep. He wakes up from his nap a few hours later, feeling drained.

He loves Kent. How had that happened? Why is it that Kent makes him feel just as happy as Jack does, when months earlier he’d nearly hated him? But even now if he turns his head, he can imagine Kent laying there in bed with him, stroking his fingers up and down Bitty’s spine and saying _‘You were perfect_ ’. And, oh. Maybe that’s why.

He thinks he’s in shock, because he wants to cry about it but he can’t. Even if Kent genuinely likes being his friend, even if he really does like having sex with Bitty, it’s not like this is something that either of them expected to go anywhere. It was supposed to go like this: Jack was supposed to fall for one of them, and then maybe the other one would be jealous, maybe their anger would lead to hatred. Maybe there would have been punching. Bitty laughs bitterly to himself at the thought—Kent would’ve liked that.

And maybe it can still go that way, except Bitty doesn’t think it’s possible to hate Kent or even dislike him anymore. He likes him—loves him, God—way too much to reverse it now. Somehow this was worse than realizing he was in love with Jack, because Jack was always untouchable (until he wasn’t), but Kent—Bitty was touching Kent before he’d even known he wanted to, kissing him under the December moon even when he’d still been angry.

He hadn’t known that kissing him would change everything. He wonders if he would still have done it, if he’d known what he was in for at the very beginning. Honestly, he’s not sure.

Stretching his neck out because he’d slept on it funny, he picks up his phone to see no less than eight texts from Kent and one from Jack, oh God.

 _Kent:_  
_hey where’d u go?_  
_we’re gonna chill in jack’s room if u wanna come_  
_bits i’m kinda worried. r u in ur room?_  
_bitty i think jack knows_  
_i’m sorry i’ve gotta tell him_  
_yeah he knew. shitttt_  
_he seems okay about it though please answer_  
_bits???_

_Jack:  
Are you okay?_

Bitty stares at the messages, reading all of them over again, heart sinking lower and lower until it threatens to fall right out of his chest. He feels numb. God. Jack knows.

He’s really really scared—he doesn’t know what comes next. There’s no rom-com for this, no lighthearted happy ending for when you’re in love with a boy and somehow also really fucking in love with their ex. At least one of them is going to get hurt—and Bitty is pretty sure it’s going to be him.

He raises his phone to type a reply, but then realizes that’s kind of silly. They’re probably still in Jack’s room. He should just—go over there. And that would be easy except that he’s terrified.

The only thing he can do is pointedly not think about it, so he tells himself he’s just getting up to get a drink of water. One foot out of the bed, then two, then he’s turning the handle to his bedroom door. No one’s in the hallway. Maybe he has a question about hockey before he gets his water, so he needs to go to Jack’s room. He’ll just pop his head in, is all.

Bracing himself, he knocks.

It’s Jack’s voice that calls out, “Come in.”

He’s shaking like a leaf as he opens the door, then shuts it behind him. “Hey,” Kent’s voice says, and Bitty looks up.

Jack and Kent are sitting sideways on the bed, slouched against the wall. They’re not touching but they don’t look particularly happy either; Kent looks worried and Jack’s eyes are drooping just a bit more than usual. “H-hi,” Bitty says, his voice rusty.

“You okay, Bits?” Kent murmurs, and Bitty nods even though he’s not, not really.

“So, um,” Bitty says, and then can’t bring himself to continue.

Kent sucks in a breath. “So. Zimms thinks we’re hot.”

“ _Kent,_ ” says Jack.

“What? That’s basically the summary of what happened,” Kent protests.

Bitty still hasn’t moved completely from _Zimms thinks we’re hot_. “Umm. What?” he squeaks, carefully avoiding Jack’s eyes.

A smile pricks at the edges of Kent’s face. “He thinks you and I are sexy together.”

Finally, Bitty lets himself look at Jack. Jack is beet-red, but there’s something in his eyes that Bitty has never seen there before—and it looks nearly like arousal. “Jack—really?”

“Um,” Jack says shortly. “Yes.” And Bitty swears his face gets two notches redder as he crosses his arms over his faded Samwell t-shirt.

“O-oh,” Bitty says, his heart starting to race. He grips the hem of his tank top, not sure where to look, finally settling his eyes on Kent.

Kent’s the only one of them who doesn’t look worried. “C’mere, Bits,” he says softly. Then he holds out his arms, and some barrier breaks in Bitty that he hadn’t known existed because Kent still wants to touch him, Kent and Jack were alone together but Kent still wants to hold him, _God_ —

Bitty goes, and Kent pulls him into his lap and holds him tight. He feels calmer already, because things are a little more okay if Kent wants to touch him.

“Kenny, um,” Jack says quietly. “I can’t—I can’t ask.”

Kent smooths a hand up Bitty’s back. “It’s all right, I can do it,” He says to Jack. Then he turns to Bitty and looks him straight in the eye. “Jack wants to watch.”

Bitty stares at him. Jack wants to watch, Jack wants to _watch_ , he and Kent—“Uhm,” he feels his eyes grow wide.

“Would you wanna?” Kent’s hand moves down his back, then up again, slowly and kind of erotically if Bitty’s being honest with himself. He wants Kent’s hand to move down further, to touch his ass—

“I—um. Yes,” Bitty says, and when he looks back at Jack, Jack’s staring at him with something raw in his eyes.

“Is that—okay?” Jack asks him.

Bitty nods. “Um, but,” he says, a little bit of nervousness digging into his chest, “I can’t hit you again, Kent.”

“That’s okay,” Kent laughs softly, just as Jack says, “You guys—do that?”

Bitty flushes. “Yeah, um. Once,” he flicks his eyes to Kent and back.

Jack swallows audibly. “Kenny, you still—like that?”

“Well, yeah,” Kent shrugs. “I liked it even after we—stopped.” All at once Bitty realizes that this might very well be a difficult conversation. He finds Kent’s hand and squeezes it, and Kent gives him a grateful smile in return.

“I—“ Jack starts, stops, then tries again. “I always thought I was hurting you.” He’s curled in on himself enough to look lonely, and Bitty aches to reach out to him, but he doesn’t know if that’s okay, if he’d even want that—

Slowly, Kent takes their intertwined hands, pulling them over to Jack so that the backs of Bitty’s knuckles are pressed against Jack’s arm. Kent pulls his hand away, and Jack looks up at Bitty questioningly—and Bitty takes the leap, turning his hand over so he can run it lightly up and down Jack’s arm.

“You never hurt me, Jack. It’s just me, being—you know. Fucked up,” Kent mutters.

“Kent, no,” Bitty turns and stares at him. “Kent—“

“Bits. You know it’s weird—“

“It’s not, Kent, it’s—“

“Kenny. You’re not fucked up,” Jack says quietly.

And then Jack moves his arm so that Bitty’s hand falls into his. Bitty’s heart is pounding so hard he’s sure they both can hear it, because Jack’s staring at both of them and he’s holding Bitty’s hand, squeezing it gently—and then he lets go, and he reaches over and takes Kent’s hand instead.

Bitty might’ve felt sad about it, if the smile Kent had given Jack just then was any less brilliant.

“Zimms,” Kent says quietly. Jack holds Kent’s gaze just like he’s holding his hand, and Bitty swears that they’re going to kiss—but then Jack looks to Bitty, and he stops leaning closer.

Kent’s face falls.

No—and Bitty’s heart hurts for him, God, because he wants Jack to love Kent just like Bitty does, just like Bitty also loves Jack. Scrambling for something, anything that will bring the smile back to Kent’s face, he pipes up. “Why don’t—um. Why don’t you two—do things, and I can watch?”

Both of them whip their heads around to stare at him. “Bits?” Kent’s brow furrows.

Jack looks just as confused. “I thought you two were—together,” he finishes slowly, and Bitty’s heart hurts but they aren’t, _they aren’t_ —

“We’re not,” he says, and stares down at his lap.

“Bits,” Kent says again, “Bitty.” He reaches up and cups Bitty’s cheek, and Bitty looks up at that, feeling vulnerable and confused.

And then Kent leans forward and kisses him, and the world tilts on its side. It’s a slow kiss, tender, softer than they’ve ever shared before, and it has Bitty feeling warm all the way down to his fingertips, God, Kent—Kent. Bitty loves him. He loves him so much, and their lips are moving together and he’s so afraid that once they stop, Kent won’t ever kiss him again, and he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want it so much he could break apart from the fear.

But they do have to stop sometime, and when Kent pulls away Bitty can’t help a quiet sigh. Except then Kent smiles at him, and—maybe this is okay.

“So. You’re not together?” Jack says, and Bitty looks up to see that he doesn’t seem angry—he seems amused, even.

And maybe a little bit aroused.

Bitty swallows. Kent wants to be hit and Jack wants to see it and Bitty just wants to be with both of them, so he says— “Jack? Would you—hit him?”

Jack’s mouth falls open. He licks his lips. “Um,” he says.

It’s not a no. “If he promised to tell you if you were hurting him, would you—?”

Kent’s trembling beside him. Jack sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I—might. But. I—I need you to talk, Kenny, I can’t do it if you aren’t talking to me. That’s why I—“ he cuts off, but it’s okay. Bitty thinks they all know what he’s talking about.

Kent’s lips twist. “I dunno if I can talk while you’re doing it. I get—really fuzzy.”

Bitty leans into him, but he resists the urge to hide his face in Kent’s neck. “What if—I talked?” he asks Jack. “You could—hit him, and I could talk you through it?”

And this is ridiculous, this is absurd—this is _not_ what Bitty had expected when he’d walked into the room—but the faintest of smiles pricks at Jack’s lips. “That might work, actually,” he murmurs.

“Really?” Kent asks him, and Bitty can hear the excitement carefully hidden behind the cautiousness in his voice.

“Uh? Yeah,” Jack says. “That’d be okay.”

“Okay,” Kent says, a slow smile growing on his face. He looks to Bitty. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty says back.

And then as if they were magnets, Kent and Jack are leaning together until their foreheads clunk, incredulous looks on both of their faces. “Hey, Zimms,” Kent says.

“Hey, Kenny,” Jack’s lips slide into a grin, and Bitty feels a little breathless watching them even as he slides himself off of Kent’s lap.

Kent’s eyes flick to Bitty. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“No,” Bitty smiles softly at him, at both of them. “Don’t worry. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Good,” Kent smirks a little. And then Jack tackles him and kisses the smirk off his face, pressing Kent into the bed, and it looks almost rough but Kent moans into it and slides his hands frantically up the back of Jack’s shirt. It’s feral and raw and Bitty knows exactly how it feels to be kissing Kent, but having Jack there makes it— _better_. Jack is here and Kent is here and Bitty’s sitting next to them, popping a semi just from watching them kiss.

“Fuck, Zimms,” Kent mumbles as Jack nips at his jaw, and Jack looks at Bitty and winks, oh _Lord_. It’s all roaming hands and little groans, and Bitty watches and wishes he could touch—except maybe he _can_ , maybe that’s okay considering what they’re about to do.

So he reaches forward and rests his hand on Jack’s back, and when Jack hums in approval (or maybe just because Kent’s kissing him really hard), Bitty slides that hand down until it meets the place where Jack’s shirt’s rucked up by Kent’s hands.

Jack breaks apart from Kent, gasping, and looks up at Bitty. “Bittle, I know you and Kent are—um, you know, but—you can touch me any way you want to,” he says, voice lowering into a rough murmur, and Bitty can’t hold back a whimper.

Kent grins at him. “Kiss him, Bits.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, and he’s pretty sure he’s flushing furiously but then Jack sits up so he’s straddling Kent, turning toward Bitty, pupils all blown out and lips puffy.

Bitty leans in. His lips meet Jack’s and _oh_ , it’s nothing like he’d expected; kissing Kent felt like fire, like undying thirst, like always wanting more, but Jack feels as steady as rock, like lying in the grass and letting the earth carry you, solid but pleasingly comforting. Jack’s a little more hesitant than he’d seemed with Kent, but when Bitty licks at his lips he opens them, slides his tongue against Bitty’s until Bitty’s so hard he has to press his palm into his crotch because it nearly hurts to still be trapped in the fabric of his shorts.

They pull away slowly, Bitty feeling dizzy and wanting, wanting so much. Jack quirks a smile at him and musses up his hair. “All right, Bittle?”

“Of course, honey,” Bitty says, then blushes, feeling nervous until Kent reaches over and squeezes his hand.

“Wanna fuck me later?” Kent says quietly.

Bitty stares at him. “ _Kent_.” God, _want_ is an understatement; Bitty’s not sure Kent even knows the things those words do to Bitty’s groin.

“What?” Kent laughs softly, squeezing his hand again.

“Won’t you be—um, hurt?” Bitty’s voice softens.

Kent considers it. “Hmm, point. Zimms? Spanking all right? Less of a chance of breaking skin,” he says, as if it’s nothing.

Jack’s face reddens again. “Yeah,” he nods after a second, then exhales sharply. “God, Kenny. You’re so—fuck.”

Kent laughs, hearty and low. “Yeah, Zimms?”

“Kent—I need you,” Jack says, and he’s rolling his hips on top of Kent and Kent groans and _God_ Bitty is going to burst just from watching this.

“Fuck, okay,” Kent says. “Got lube?”

“Yeah. Desk drawer,” Jack moves to get off of him, but Bitty scrambles off the bed and over to the desk before Jack can do so. He finds the lube, right next to a box of condoms that he squints at before grabbing those too, bringing them back over to the bed.

Kent and Jack are stripping. God, it’s mesmerizing, and Bitty’s seen Kent before but he’s never _looked_ at Jack because you’re not supposed to look in the locker rooms. Jack turns and smirks at him, takes his arm and tugs him closer, and Bitty lets out a little yelp because Jack is only wearing boxers and Bitty’s so close to him that he can feel the warmth of Jack’s body through his own clothing—“Nngh!”

“You gonna get naked for us, Bits?” Kent comes up and slips an arm around his waist. He’s unclothed, smirking just like Jack is, and then while Bitty’s distracted Jack leans down to nuzzle at his neck and Bitty just about dies from the tingling in his throat.

“I—I,” he tries, but has to settle for just nodding because his voice has given up. Then there are hands on him, all over, Kent’s hands at the button of his shorts and Jack’s at the hem of his tank and they have him stripped in no time.

Part of him still can’t believe that Kent wants him like this, much less Jack, who’s staring at him almost longingly. But then Kent’s crawling onto the bed, motioning for Bitty to lay beside him, and Jack climbs up to straddle Kent’s legs, losing his boxers in the process. Bitty stares until he realizes he’s doing it, but Jack’s already caught him and is giving him a droopy-eyed grin. “Hi,” he says, putting a hand on Bitty’s calf.

“Um, hi,” Bitty replies, and Kent laughs at them both.

“Such awkward flirters,” he waggles his eyebrows, and Bitty flicks him in the shoulder.

“Shush, you,” he chides, and then he shifts his head closer and kisses him before Kent can get in another word.

He feels the vibration in Kent’s lips when Jack slaps Kent’s ass the first time. The second time, Kent whimpers into Bitty’s mouth, and Bitty pulls away so he can breathe. “All right, Kent?” he murmurs quietly, and Kent nods, the smile on his face nearly peaceful.

Bitty had been worried that he wouldn’t like this, wouldn’t like the hitting, even though he’s not the one doing it. But he sits up and Kent’s ass is already red, the obvious outline of a handprint patterned in several places, and Jack raises his hand and strikes him again and Kent groans and it’s kind of—hot. Like, really hot, hot enough that Bitty moans softly as a jolt runs through Kent’s body at the next slap. “You’re doing so good, Jack,” he murmurs truthfully.

He’s surprised to see some of the tension drop out of Jack’s shoulders. Jack sighs out a “Thank you,” and _oh_ , this is what he must’ve meant when he’d said ‘talking’.

And Bitty can most definitely do that. “Your hand looks so good on his ass, honey,” he murmurs, and both Kent and Jack moan at that one, making Bitty feel almost giddy.

“Bittle,” Jack says, and Bitty perks up.

“Hmm?”

“You’re gonna fuck him?”

“Um,” Bitty flushes. “Y-yes?”

“Mhmm,” Kent adds, voice muffled in Jack’s pillow.

“If you want,” Jack pauses in his movement, gently squeezing at Kent’s ass in a way that’s making him squirm, “You can open him up while I do this?”

Bitty’s throat constricts. God, he’s so hard. “Okay,” he nods quickly, grabbing for the lube, dropping it on accident, then picking it up again. Jack climbs off of Kent, moving to the side so Bitty can straddle him instead, and his hands shake only slightly as he pours lube onto his fingers.

He wonders if Jack thinks they’ve done this before, if Jack knows that Bitty hasn’t really done this at all. But he knows enough to start slow, so he uses his other hand to spread Kent open, pressing the pad of his slick index finger against Kent’s hole. It feels tight, so tight he thinks it might be impossible to press in, but then he applies just the right amount of pressure and he slides in to the first knuckle.

And then Jack raises his hand and brings it down on Kent’s ass, and Kent _sobs_ , clenching around Bitty’s finger, and Bitty shudders because God, it’s so tight. He’s going to be inside Kent soon, _oh God_.

He presses his finger in with little thrusts, and Kent squirms beneath him as he does it, and Bitty gives Jack little bits of encouragement every now and then as Kent’s ass gets more and more red. Bitty fucks another finger in, then another, feeling tense and fluttery all at once, and when Jack nudges him and says, “He’s probably ready, you know,” Bitty can barely wait for Kent’s corresponding nod before he’s fumbling with the condoms.

At least he knows how to use one, having tried one on before just for practice. He rolls it on himself, sitting up on his knees, and Kent pushes himself up too, ass in the air in a way that makes Bitty involuntarily whine.

“Ready?” Bitty asks him, and Kent nods with a groan. He positions himself carefully, and then that’s it, he’s pressing in and it’s so hot and tight around him oh God, he could nearly pass out from how good it feels.

“Bitty,” Jack sighs, and Bitty’s eyes snap to him—Jack’s sitting on his heels, jerking himself off, staring avidly at the place where Kent and Bitty are joined. And Bitty knows he’d said it, but seeing the evidence is different—Jack really does think he and Kent are hot, hot enough to get himself off watching it, Lord.

“You can move, you know,” Kent twists his neck to smirk at him, and Bitty realizes he’d only pushed halfway in before losing himself in Kent, before getting carried away in Jack’s eyes.

“Okay,” Bitty breathes, and then he grabs at Kent’s hips and presses in, in, in, all the way—and then he’s thrusting, over and over, and there’s a sharp keen that Bitty thinks came from his own mouth, _Lord_. Jack brings his hand up to stifle him, thank God, because Bitty doesn’t think he could be quiet right now if he tried.

“Careful,” Kent has twisted himself to look at them again. “He bites.”

Bitty flushes bright red at that, and Jack raises an eyebrow at Kent and carefully, deliberately brings his hand down to smack Kent’s ass.

“Fuck, _fuck,_ ” Kent clenches.

“OhmyGod, Kent, I’m so—I’m, I’m—“ Bitty says, and Jack brings his hand down on Kent once again and Bitty comes.

The feeling rushes over him, making him whimper, and it keeps going and going and then Kent comes too with a low keen—“ _Fuck_!”

Bitty’s his hips stutter wildly as Kent clenches tight and slick around him, over and over. He makes enough noise that Jack has to keep his hand on Bitty’s mouth until he finally quiets, slightly embarrassed but feeling too warm and hazy to really worry.

Legs shaky, Bitty carefully pulls out, and Kent collapses on his stomach as Bitty goes to discard the condom. When he comes back, Jack’s pulling himself off, his breaths growing more and more broken. “Want help?” Bitty asks, feeling almost shy.

“Uh, if you wanna,” Jack gasps, face growing red. Bitty climbs over Kent, who’s smirking and eyeing them in interest, and curls his hand around Jack’s cock. Slowly, he strokes him, and then Jack tips his head up and kisses him and Bitty’s in heaven sitting between the two of them like this. “I’m close—Bitty, oh,” Jack groans, his breath hitching as Bitty speeds his hand movements.

“You can come on me, Zimms,” Kent mumbles sleepily, and Jack’s mouth falls agape at that.

“Fuck—Kenny, okay,” Jack moans, and Bitty moves with him as he sits up, hovering right over Kent’s reddened ass—and then Jack comes, striping Kent’s skin with white, making soundless little shudders as Bitty works him through it.

Clean-up is quiet, filled with heated little glances from all three of them. Jack gets a damp washcloth and cleans Kent off, and it’s almost loving, the way Jack caresses his skin, kissing the bump of his tailbone when he’s done. Bitty might’ve been jealous if Kent’s head hadn’t been nestled warm in his lap, Bitty’s fingers tangled pleasantly in his hair.

All things said and done, Bitty kind of expects to get kicked out when it’s over. But Kent tugs him so that he’s lying sandwiched between he and Jack, and it’s a little warm but Bitty doesn’t mind it at all. He’s still _here_.

“Was that all right?” he asks quietly, to no one in particular.

“Yes,” Jack says, slipping a warm arm over Bitty’s waist, making him thrum with happiness.

“That was fucking fantastic, is what he means to say,” Kent grins widely, stroking a knuckle up Bitty’s cheek.

“Sure,” Jack chuckles, and Bitty feels so warm and happy that it all wells up in his eyes.

His emotions don’t spill over until Kent nudges him and says, “Hey, Bits?”

“Hmm?” Bitty turns his head, and Kent’s still grinning but he looks nervous.

“So—I like you. Is that okay?”

Bitty thinks his heart might just have stopped. “Kent.”

“What?”

“ _Kent_ ,” Bitty says again, and this time his emotions really do spill out, dancing down his cheeks because he can’t bother to wipe them away. “I—yes, yes that’s okay. Lord,” he laughs softly, and Kent kisses his nose and then his lips, humming in delight.

Behind him, Jack chuckles. Bitty turns his head, not quite able to stop giggling. “What?”

“You guys hadn’t—well. I thought you were in love.”

“Um,” Bitty says, growing very, very red. “ _Jack_.”

Kent’s grin slowly transforms into a smirk. “Oh? What’s that, Bits?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Bitty groans, twisting to hide his face in Kent’s chest. He’s not quite ready to say it aloud yet, he thinks, but Kent just rubs his back and lets it go.

“Oh, Zimms?” Kent says quietly.

“Hmm?”

“You’ll stay, right? With us?”

Bitty can hear the hesitation in Jack’s voice as he says, “I—well. I’d like to. If—if you’ll have me, Kenny.”

“Of course,” Kent says, and the ecstasy in his voice is nearly tangible.

Face splitting into a grin, Bitty turns to Jack again, and Jack looks stunned and also tremblingly, tentatively elated. Bitty turns back and Kent’s wearing the same expression, and God, they don’t really know what to do with themselves, do they? But that’s okay. Neither does Bitty.

He’d been so scared before of being left out, left behind in the passing storm. But rather than leaving him behind, they’ve brought Bitty with them—and he couldn’t be happier. The storm has blown over and Bitty’s still here, still with them, surrounded by little smirks and emotions that aren’t yet ripe enough to pick out. This aftermath is only a new beginning, nothing to be scared of, and Bitty looks over to Kent and sees that the train that’d once wrecked is now running fine.

Bitty finds their hands with his own and squeezes, his left hand in Jack’s and his right hand, his dominant one, in Kent’s.

He won’t be punching Kent with that hand anytime soon, he thinks. It’s a beautiful, amazing thing that Kent likes him anyway.


End file.
